


Momentum

by Macx



Series: Synergy [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had lost his co-pilot when Vesper Lynd drowned in a Kaiju battle, saving him in return. It pitched James Bond into his own, personal hell. It takes another personal loss for him to agree to pilot his old Jaeger again.</p><p>But Bond needs a new co-pilot; one he chooses. </p><p>He gets Q. </p><p>Together they are deployed to Hong Kong, one of the last five Jaegers, now under the command of Stacker Pentecost, and the protection detail for Striker Eureka’s mission to blow the Breach and seal it forever.</p><p>And maybe, just maybe, they will survive the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I can only blame two friends who said I should go and watch Pacific Rim, that it would be right up my alley. Damn, they were right! I came out of the movie and this happened in my brain…
> 
> For the Skyfall fandom: You should at least know the general premise of Pacific Rim, maybe have watched the movie. I follow events loosely. If you want a little visual help, let me know. There's a really cool place I've spent WAY too much time at to get my facts right :)
> 
> This contains a divergence from some canon movie facts aka ‘It’s a bit of a fix-it’.
> 
> The Vancouver Shatterdome doesn’t exist. Heck, why doesn’t it? ;) There’s a whole lot of coastline between Anchorage and LA!

It was a miserable day for December 24th. A day before Christmas, the clouds were hanging low, the drizzle more rain than snow.

James Bond didn’t care.

He hadn’t cared about a lot of things in the past year, including himself.

“The Wall can’t stop them.”

The cool words drew him out of his reverie and he looked away from the dreariness outside the window.

The Marshall was a short woman, her face lined with age, her short hair already white, peppered with a few remaining gray strands. She was shorter than any of the Rangers under her command, but her presence was formidable.

She had been a Jaeger pilot once, when the first Kaijus had been appeared out of the Pacific. She had successfully killed three of them, then had taken over the newly built Vancouver Shatterdome in 2018.

Today, together with Hong Kong, it was the last to remain operational, with only two functional Jaegers left. The rest had been dragged off to Oblivion Bay.

Bond looked at M, as the Marshall of the Shatterdome was usually known, with a neutral expression. His eyes were cold, almost glacial. The tanned face was lined with an exhaustion that hadn’t left him since the death of his co-pilot. His graying stubble did nothing to help his appearance. If anything, it made him seem old, tired… worn.

He had started to come apart at the seams a long time ago and it was a process that was ongoing. The haunted looks of a man who had lost everything.

Maybe it was already too late.

M knew the tragedy of that day almost twelve months ago. She had been there every step of the way since. Bond had survived, had been pulled out of the water, but Vesper Lynd had drowned. Her body had been found two days later and she had been buried with honor.

The Jaeger had been repaired, but ever since, Bond hadn’t been the same.

He had disappeared for three months, then come back, looking like he had slept in burned out building, amongst the rubble and death. 

Three months and nothing had changed. Three months and he wasn’t the same anymore. Drugs and sex and more drugs. Alcohol and pain medication.

Running himself into the ground to forget.

Tearing his mind apart.

M knew all about it.

She had let it happen, had kept an eye on him, but she had never interfered.

Maybe she should have.

James Bond had been first of his class at the Jaeger Academy. He had excelled in the simulations, had killed all Kaijus, had never lost his Jaeger. He had always been in prime physical condition and his mental stability had become the stuff of legend.

Drifting with Bond was and always had been a lesson in supreme control.

Vesper had been his chosen match. M had known there had been romantic feelings and she had approved. The closer co-pilots were, the better the neural handshake, the better the Drift. Brothers, sisters, siblings, couples, a parent with a child, it didn’t matter. Only the Drift did. Only the compatibility.

Bond had been the best ranger out there.

Until the day Vesper had died.

M was only grateful that they hadn’t been connected when it had happened. It would most likely have destroyed him.

“We always knew it wouldn’t,” the ranger finally said.

M’s face was cool, distant. “We did. They didn’t.”

‘They’ being the United Nations who refused to fund the Jaeger program anymore. They clung to the Wall of Life construction.

“Pentecost’s been given free reign over the remaining Jaeger. He wants to close the Breach.”

“That was tried before. It failed.”

“That was then. This is now.”

Bond snorted. “Good luck to them.”

“Commander Bond,” she stopped him from rising. “Skyfall has been commissioned and updated. It’s back on the active list.”

The blue eyes grew even colder, the lines seemed to sink deeper into the haggard face. The memories were there, of blood and death.

“You will be her pilot.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a request. It’s an order.”

“I have no co-pilot.”

M’s thin, dark smile had the man freeze. “You will.”

“No!”

“Like I said: it’s not an option, it’s not up for discussions. We will need every Jaeger, every ranger, we can find. You are the most experienced we still have! Trevelyan is in a coma, Silva and Onatopp are good, but they don’t have your battle skills. Skyfall Prime and Kill Royale are the last to be operational. We lost all the others to the Kaiju. Only six are left world-wide, Bond. If we go down, we go down fighting!”

His hands clenched and unclenched, then he finally snarled softly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“I know the Drift with Moneypenny failed. We have more candidates. Some very promising ones.”

Bond’s face was impassive. M had been there when Eve Moneypenny had been deemed the best fit to the older, more experienced pilot. She had aced her classes, but then the Drift had gone out of sync while they were out in the water. It had been almost catastrophic.

She hadn’t been in a Jaeger since.

Bond had disappeared off the face of the Earth, or so it had seemed.

“It won’t work.” Bond sounded like he was chewing on glass, his voice gritty, the edges serrated and sharp.

M refused to be intimidated. He had been her best pilot and he still was. “It will,” she only said.

His laugh sounded off, painful, almost desperate. “I’m not pilot material any more. You can’t fix what’s broken in a Drift.”

This time he rose with a finality that had M suppress a sigh. Bond had been and still was an elite pilot. If anyone could come back from losing half of him, it would be him.

The death of a Drift partner was catastrophic, especially when the team was in sync like Vesper and James had been. She knew of Raleigh Becket, the American co-pilot. His brother Yancy had been yanked out of the neural bridge by the Kaiju that had broken through the armor. That had to be the worst way to feel death.

Vesper hadn’t been connected to Bond when she had died, but she might as well have been. He had been ready to tie the knot with her, M knew. They had been that close. It had been what had made James and Vesper so efficient, so incredibly solid and balanced. There had been quite a few teams consisting of couples, starting with the very first Jaeger ever to go up against a Kaiju, Brawler Yukon.

For one to die meant the other would either die, too, or they would continue with half of them missing.

A year would never be enough to heal the pain, to smooth the scars, to numb the emotions. A year with no psychological help was a year in Hell. Pilots were offered frequent psych evals, had free access to specialists whenever they needed them, but Bond hadn’t accepted any kind of help.

Like he didn’t accept the offer to fight back, to be what was in his blood: a hunter, a killer, a Jaeger pilot.

He had died, M thought to herself. He had lost half of himself and he had died.

She watched him leave, the tense set of his shoulder, the haggard expression, haunted by old, painful memories, and she mourned the loss of a good pilot.

 

* * *

 

The next Kaiju attack broke through the half-finished Wall around Vancouver City.

It killed six thousand people.

One of them was M.

Bond stared at the news report, watched the RAF fight back against the monster from the deep, a category four. Nothing of this size and weight and destructive force had ever attacked here before.

A category 4.

Kill Royale was sent to stop it.

They did.

And they lost their lives.

Bond had known Raoul Silva and Xenia Onatopp. Competent, cool-headed, cold-blooded, successful. Xenia had been a Russian fighter pilot and she had aced the Academy courses. She was a fierce fighter, vicious, tenacious, and Kill Royale had had five kills under her belt. Silva was… had been… an old dog like him. Experienced. With a killer instinct needed to finish off the enemy.

Now he was dead.

Xenia was dead.

M was dead.

He turned away from the screen and walked through the busy streets of Vancouver, mind blank. The wet snow coming down was ignored.

The decision of the United Nations still stood. The Pan Pacific Defense Corps wouldn’t receive funds to continue the Jaeger program. The world had to rely on the Wall.

As M had told him when he had first met her after such a long time, the funding would stop in eight months. She had talked to Stacker Pentecost, the only other Marshall still in command of a Shatterdome. He had confirmed the information and he had told her that he wouldn’t take this lying down.

He would attempt to close the Breach, even if it was the last thing he was doing.

M wouldn’t be around to see his failure or success any more.

He needed a drink.

 

* * *

 

The woman who stepped into the gritty bar looked completely out of place. She was dressed in moderately official clothes, suit pants, suit jacket, blouse. She had thrown a coat over the ensemble. At least she was wearing sensible shoes, not high heels.

Bond watched her approach with a flicker of interest, and recognition.

“Miss Moneypenny,” he greeted her.

“Commander Bond.”

He snorted a humorless laugh. “Not anymore.”

She placed a black box the size of a shoe box on the table. He regarded it with slight curiosity, nursing his beer.

“You weren’t at M’s funeral. Or the wake.”

Another humorless laugh. “Not my place. Hate those things.”

She carefully sat down. Bond couldn’t fault her that. The bar wasn’t exactly the cleanest, but the beer was cheap and good, and the people weren’t the talkative kind. He had been here before, several times, especially after Vesper’s death, and the owner had kept the flow of numbing liquor flowing.

Since then the place hadn’t become any better or cleaner or lighter. The waitresses weren’t big on wiping down tables, just served the snacks and drinks. The food wasn’t something to look forward to or to actually come here. It was helpful in keeping the effect of the alcohol at bay, unless you wanted to get dead drunk very quickly.

Sometimes, James had felt just like that.

Right now, looking at the ranger trainee who had failed at syncing with him, had been completely out of alignment as the Drift had started, Bond felt like he needed a lot of liquor.

“What do you want?”

She pushed the box at him. “From M. She left it to you.”

Bond raised his eyebrows, but he removed the lid and almost laughed at what was inside.

A bulldog. White with the British flag on its back.

It was an ugly little thing and he had commented on it in front of M before. She had kept it on her office desk, the one in downtown Vancouver. A Marshall usually stayed at the Shatterdome, but M still had had a place outside.

It was where she had died. The Kaiju had made it that far, destroying half of downtown, including the office.

“The whole office goes up in flames and that bloody thing survives.”

Eve smiled dimly. “She wanted you to have that.”

He looked at the figurine. “For whatever reason.”

“Old dog?” she teased, though it sounded forced.

He had seen a lot in that brief Drift, her thoughts and memories and hopes and dreams. He had seen a damaged young woman who had lost a lot through the Kaiju war. Her fiancée and her brother had died in San Francisco when the first Kaiju, then labeled ‘Trespasser’. It had damaged her.

A lot of ranger trainees were damaged, had trauma, came into the Academy and into training with the need for revenge. Moneypenny had been one of the best, resilient, hard to keep down, but there was a difference between the training and the reality of a Drift.

“We need you,” she said, holding his eyes, refusing to back down.

He was silent, looking at the bulldog again.

Tenacious little beast. Tough. Hard to keep down, even harder to get it to stay down. A fighter.

M had been like that. The bulldog had been a perfect representation of her. She had given it to him and it told him a lot about the old ranger pilot. It gave him an insight into what M had thought of him.

Like that ugly little thing he had been hard to kill, hard to destroy. He had survived.

Sometimes he had hated her guts. Sometimes he had cursed her every step of the way. Quite often he had been bordering on insubordination. And a few times he had overstepped a boundary.

Moneypenny rose, wrapping her coat around her. Her expression was pain-filled but tougher than he remembered her from a year ago. Bond raised his glass when she told him good-bye and walked out the bar.

He emptied the beer, then shook his head when the waitress asked if he wanted another.

He put the lid back on the box and carried it with him out of the drinking joint.

 

* * *

 

The new year had come and gone.

He wasn’t one to celebrate.

He hurt. All of him, right down to his bones. Physically he was back; mentally was another question.

The Shatterdome was a mass of bad memories, mixed with the few happier ones that made it through sometimes.

It didn’t help that he was given a wide berth by most people.

On January 2nd, the Kaiju designated Mutavore broke through the Sydney Anti-Kaiju Wall. Echo Saber and Vulcan Specter were destroyed. Striker Eureka finally managed to take the massive category-4 down.

Still, the United Nations didn’t change its song. They proclaimed that the Walls would protect humanity.

Vancouver would shut down within the next month and only Hong Kong would remain.

For eight more months.

It was laughable.

 

 

Six hours after Mutavore, James Bond met the new Marshall. He had run into Gareth Mallory once before and he had been a bureaucrat back then. Some battle experience, but more of a paper pusher in Bond’s eyes.

“We need you,” Mallory only said, repeating what Moneypenny had already said; what the old M had told him.

Mallory looked tired and worn, just the way Bond felt. One arm was in a sling. He had been in Vancouver, with M, with Bill Tanner, and only the two men had made it out alive. Tanner hadn’t so much as a scratch, Mallory had had shrapnel stuck in his arm.

They needed him; James Bond. He needed to fight again. He needed to kill these things, even if he died trying. They had taken everything from him, except his life, and Bond would be damned if he just rolled over and bared his throat.

The old M had been right.

“My choice,” the ranger ground out. “I test them.”

It got him a rough chuckle. “Pick whoever you want. The neural bridge is important. Nothing else.”

No. Nothing else.

There was only desperation left.

 

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a while since James Bond had been in the Kwoon Combat Room. It still looked the same. Maybe a little bit less well-maintained, with a rougher look, but essentially it was what he remembered it to be. The Kwoon was a specialized arena in the Shatterdome where the Rangers were taught to fight in order to amplify their proficiency in combat situations. He had been through countless such sessions, had found Vesper here, had fought with her for seemingly forever.

There were memories here.

Not all of them good.

As was standard, people taught in self-defense, Navy personnel and neural physiologists were brought in to ensure that Rangers were pushed to their physical and mental limits. There had always been a group of watchers, making notes, remarking to each other on the trainee’s performance, and later huddling together and exchanging notes.

Bond could still hear his teacher from when he had gone through the grueling Academy training.

 

_“You will be constantly tested and pushed to your physical and mental limits,” had been the cold, matter-of-fact words. “How much you can remember, learn and maintain within a short period of time determines whether or not you’ll make the cut and become a Ranger!”_

 

Miranda Frost had been a tough bird. One of the Mark-I pilots who had risked everything fighting in a barely isolated, nuclear-powered exoskeleton. She had been something of a pioneer. Like many of her fellow rangers she had paid a price. Cancer.

But instead of stepping down, taking care of herself, she had turned into a hard-as-nails teacher.

Very few who joined the Academy ever made it past the first cut. Those who trained Jaeger pilot hopefuls, trained them with the intention of breaking their spirit. They maintained relentless tactics to exemplify the mercilessness of the Kaiju in battle, showing the trainees what they would go up against.

Nothing about becoming a Jaeger pilot was glorious. The blood, sweat and tears were real. The threat of death was very real. You either had the mental fortitude to make it or you were one of the many rejects.

Training sessions could last up to fourteen hours a day, taking everything out of a man or woman. James had made it through.

He hadn’t missed it.

Not much. Really.

And still, it was like riding a bicycle. He was in the room and things kept coming back.

Training combat for pilots consisted of varying martial arts. There was also weapons training with long range and short range weapons, as well as fencing. Combat training allowed them to utilize their skills in Jaeger combat during the Drift. Everything they did, everything they were told to do, was to assess their team abilities, their fitness, their mental stability, and the better the Kwoon results, the closer one was to finding a co-pilot.

The goal within the Kwoon was to forge this ideal partnership, analyze how they moved together, how they worked together, how clues were picked up and worked with.

That was what made a successful Jaeger.

Cooperation. Trust. Give and take.

It was more than just physical prowess or fitness. It was physiological as well as psychological. Drifts weren’t between a superior and a subordinate. They were between equals.

Bond closed his eyes, felt part of himself untangle just a little bit. His fingers closed around the wooden staff he had grabbed from a rack, and he twirled it.

So easy.

All coming back, and so easy.

A year had passed and he hadn’t been gone.

He opened his eyes again and started to go through the motions, warming up, remembering, recalling, pushing the dark memories away.

 

*

 

The thump as the body hit the floor mat seemed to resound in the otherwise silent room.

That had been the last of them. Mary Goodnight. Young, promising, talented, but not a match.

Bond shook his head as the candidate scrambled to her feet, looking rather frightened and beaten.

All of them had been beaten.

None of them had felt right.

One or two had been close. He had watched for their responses, their action and reactions, but they always went out of sync.

It was like a curse.

He knew he was an experienced pilot going up against rookies that had never seen a moment of real battle. They had excelled at simulations, had beaten the imaginary monsters, had been great in the Kwoon with their fellow trainees, but they weren’t for him.

Goodnight left, her shoulders slumped, her whole body trembling a little. It hadn’t even been much of a fight. He had beaten her 4-0.

“You have a knack for not only putting them in their place, but also for putting them down.”

Bond turned. He hadn’t really heard anyone approach. The tryouts had been with the usual watchers, but they had already dispersed, talking softly amongst themselves. He just knew what they would say.

Unfit.

Incompatible.

Carrying too much emotional weight with him.

In need of psychological help.

Too dangerous. A nightmare to work with, a danger to the co-pilot, unable to sync.

He had heard it before

It was laughable.

The only other neural handshake he had tried after Vesper had been with Moneypenny. It had been the wrong match to begin with, his loss, her loss, both of them tearing apart at the seams, revenge and fury combining to blow the Pons apart.

A year had passed. Bond knew he had only further declined, not gotten more stable, but he also realized that this time, in here, he had to find a match to fight again.

Or he could just roll on his back and wait for death.

Drawing himself out of the abyss yawning beneath him, waiting for him to fall and catch him, he raised an eyebrow at the slender young man standing in the doorway to the training room. He was carrying a tablet, carefully balanced on one hands, and he raised his eyes to look at Bond with a slightly bemused expression. Tousled hair, oversized glasses, wearing a slightly disheveled outfit, Bond suspected he was either one of the research scientists studying the Kaijus or one of the engineers only working on paper with the Jaeger designs.

Probably the latter. He had that tech geek vibe.

But whoever he was, something inside Bond seemed to ping with his presence. Something about the unassuming young man had Bond sit up and take notice. It wasn’t the sizzle of a connection he had had when he had first met Vesper in the Kwoon. It wasn’t that instantaneous knowledge that they would be compatible.

It was something else.

It hung between them and James couldn’t really put his finger on it. It was strong, sparking already, and he itched in a way that he hadn’t for a long time.

For a year.

Maybe even longer.

Whatever it was, the connection was there, almost palpable for him to feel. This was what the psychologists talked about in the classes. This was what the neural scientists expected. This was what Bond had been looking for in the stream of trainees coming to the tryout.

“007,” the newcomer nodded at him, as if it was a kind of code or rank.

The Vancouver pilots had been given Double-Oh codes and Bond had been 007 ever since the first time he had Drifted with Vesper. Among the Jaeger pilots in all the Shatterdomes, ‘Double-Oh’ had become a nick-name for the Vancouver batch.

He felt like the last of his kind, really. Alex was the only one left alive. 006. If being in a coma counted. Everyone else had perished.

Yes, he was a dinosaur.

“And who are you?” Bond asked.

“I’m your new quartermaster.”

“You must be joking,” he almost blurted, taken by surprise.

“Why? Because I don’t wear a lab coat?”

There was a challenge in the calm, sure words. The dark eyes met his own fearlessly, despite Bond’s impressive appearance, the quiet, deadly grace. Bond knew he had scared some of the recruits by just standing there. He hadn’t slacked off physically, despite his absence from real battle. He was in shape.

But this one wasn’t a recruit.

This one wasn’t even rattled.

“Because you still got spots,” he scoffed.

“My complexion is hardly relevant,” was the indignant reply.

“Your competence is,” Bond growled.

Quartermaster! This kid was supposed to be the quartermaster? He had known this Q’s predecessor. Major Boothroyd had been killed in a Kaiju attack on Sydney.

Like every department head in the Shatterdome, the quartermaster was only known by a single letter. Q for the quartermaster. M for the Marshall. It seemed to be a British thing, since none of the others had the same knack. The quartermaster was a peculiar British thing, too. Or a Vancouver thing.

“Age is no guarantee for efficiency, 007,” the new Q said evenly.

“And youth is no guarantee for innovation.”

He stopped in front of the younger man. He looked barely out of college, pale skinned, thin, too young for this. How old was he? Twenty? Twenty-five?

But still, that strength was there for Bond to see. It was a backbone he sometimes didn’t find in Jaeger trainees. Q knew he who he was, what he could do, what he was capable of. He was completely assured in his abilities.

“007.”

“Q,” he answered, lips curling into a smile that was matched by his quartermaster.

He liked him.

The connection was there and it was growing, the proximity doing the rest.

“I was very serious about the candidates. None of them are even close to acceptable.”

Q raised his eyebrows. “Really.”

Bond didn’t react, his stare unnerving for many but Q didn’t so much as blink.

“That isn’t up to you,” the new quartermaster added.

“Aren’t you a little young for being quartermaster of the Shatterdome?”

“I was chosen by M. You have to take it up with her.”

He laughed softly, leaning on the staff. “So you are evaluating the potential co-pilots?”

“I am.”

Bond smirked and leaned closer, an imposing figure that could strike fear into other engineers.

“Oh please, 007. This only works in school yards.” Q’s expression reflected annoyance.

Oh, he liked this one. A lot. He hadn’t been given this much snark and lip since… a long time ago. The man seemed to have no fear, no reservations to treat the Double-Oh like he would anyone, and he had a calm, assertive manner that appealed to Bond.

A lot.

Damn.

“What qualifies you to do that, quartermaster? Have you ever gone through a Drop?”

Dark brows rose and the youthful expression grew slightly haughty. “I implemented the omega codes myself. I also designed most of the upgraded operating system on Skyfall Prime. My experience in Jaeger tech far surpasses that of any technician currently employed in any of the Shatterdomes.”

“Modest,” Bond smirked. “But you didn’t answer my other question.”

“Of course I went through Drops.”

“How many Drops?” he challenged.

“Forty-seven.”

“How many kills?”

“Forty-seven.”

Bond stared at him, hard. Daring him to lie. Daring him to exaggerate. What he saw was complete and utter truth, the competency of a quartermaster, the knowledge of an engineer, the seniority and experience most J-Techs didn’t have after ten years working at a Shatterdome. All coupled in this unassuming man.

“I built them,” Q said, cocking his head a fraction. “I programmed their core codes. I understand them better than anyone in this Shatterdome. Eon Gold and Quantum Solace were prime examples of the new generation, surpassing even Moon Raker. Kill Royale was an incredible loss. Skyfall Prime might be old, but she is ready.”

“She, Q?”

The quartermaster didn’t even blush. “She,” he only confirmed.

“Applying gender to a non-sentient A.I.?”

Q ignored the smirk, just raised an eyebrow.

“So, you are going to teach an old dog new tricks?” he teased.

“Instinct can’t be taught.”

Bond didn’t respond. He watched his quartermaster, then a slow, slow smile stole over his lips.

“You never wanted to pilot one outside a simulation?” Bond switched the topic back to what was really on his mind.

“No.”

Bond twirled the staff. “I wonder how you would test, quartermaster.”

“I hardly think so, 007. I will compile a new list. We will find you a co-pilot.”

Bond blocked his way with the staff. “You.”

Q froze. “I’m not a candidate.”

“M gave me free choice. I want you.”

“I…” He looked slightly flustered for the first time.

James liked it. It was an appeal he hadn’t thought possible before.

“You have the experience.”

“In theory, 007. In simulators. On paper.”

“Like all of the candidates in this mockery of a tryout. What are you afraid of, quartermaster?” he asked, grinning. “The Drift?”

Q simply gave him that look and it was impressive all on its own.

Q was impressive.

Bond was impressed.

“We are not compatible, 007,” he stated like it was a fact that had already been proven.

Oh, but they were. He knew they were. Bond was one of the oldest pilots, though age said nothing about skill. He could feel it in his bones that this was his co-pilot.

“You never Drifted,” he said, voice a low rumble, meeting the intense eyes of the quartermaster. “But you know everything about it. About the intensity, nothing to hide, all thoughts there for the other to see. Is that what you fear?”

Q looked rather unimpressed. “No.”

“So you want to sit here, doing nothing but watch? Knowing that you might be the best for Skyfall Prime?” Bond prodded, his tone of voice rougher now, with more anger. “Do you want to watch the numbers or do you want a chance to see what your designs can do?”

Q didn’t shrink back, didn’t move a single step. His shoulders were still squared, his stance strong and proud.

Oh yes, Bond liked him.

It was a feeling, instinct, something that had saved him and Vesper too many times to count. She had been perfect for him and this one… he felt perfect, too.

More than that.

This was the one he had never hoped to find.

“This is the last chance humanity has, Q. Against the Kaiju. To stop the Apocalypse. I won’t be able to pilot Skyfall Prime alone.”

“I’m not a co-pilot.”

Bond thrust the staff at him. “Show me.”

For a moment nothing happened. It was like a stand-off, both men looking at the other, watching, waiting.

Then Q put the tablet aside as Bond picked up another staff. His glasses were folded and placed on top. He watched as Q twirled it and he had to hold back a grin. Q knew how to use one.

Step one.

Bond took a stance, shooting the other man a look. “Come on, quartermaster. Show me you’re not a pilot.”

 

 

He was a genius.

He was a tech nerd.

He was highly intelligent, fast, worked computers like magic and did the impossible with the technology at his disposal. He wrote codes no one else understood at first. He wrote programs that baffled other genius-level engineers. He was one of a kind and scarily perfect when it came to the interaction with the Jaeger A.I.s.

Not that they were sentient.

But he had a knack.

Q was an asset and Vancouver had been oh-so lucky to have him. Offered the position of the Chief LOCCENT officer, he had declined. Being the quartermaster, in charge of all the weaponry and tech, had been more up his alley.

Whoever met him the first time would underestimate the young genius. After that, the respect was true and earned.

Now he stood in the Kwoon Room, facing down James Bond, an elite Jaeger pilot, and something inside of him screamed at Q what an idiot he was.

He wasn’t pilot material. He wasn’t even close to one. The Drops had been made because the quartermaster had wanted to know how his tech and upgrades worked first hand.

In retrospect…

He shifted a little on his feet.

Who could have foreseen a man like James Bond wanting him as a co-pilot? It was laughable!

Blue eyes, bright and intense, glacial in their actual color, watched him. A predator, plain to see.

He had read the man’s file. He had brilliant mind in a body honed to perfection. He was a senior martial artist, had the grace and the skill and the strength, and he was lethal with any form of long or short range weapon. He was smarter than he let on, he was quick on his feet, he understood more of the tech babble than others, though he would never confess to it, and he thrived under the pressure of a mission.

But there was so much more to this man.

Q knew about the loss of Vesper Lynd, that she had drowned, that Bond had changed after that. The Drift with Moneypenny had been almost catastrophic.

He had refused to be paired up with anyone after that.

So why him?

Q tested the weight of the staff, twirling it slowly. It wasn’t his first time in combat training, but he preferred not to engage in too many tryouts. It had been a matter of keeping in shape and some of the pilots or trainers had readily let him spar.

M had been aware of his scores, that he had a perfect Drop rate, but she had never so much as mentioned a possible co-pilot seat.

Until James Bond.

Those ice blue eyes met and held his. Q didn’t shy away, didn’t drop his gaze.

“Ready?”

Q took a stance.

It got him a terrifying smile, one that should have shaken him to the core but didn’t. Interestingly enough the smile and the expression sparked something inside Q. It wasn’t apprehension of this confrontation. Nor was it arousal.

No, it was different.

It touched deeper and it was welcome and confusing in one.

He resolutely pulled his mind away from that dangerous track, concentrating on what was about to happen.

“Ready,” Q said.

 

* * *

 

Bond’s lips curled into a smile as he watched Q walk from the Drivesuit Room into the Conn-Pod.

He had known Q would match him.

He had known he would be pilot material.

The fight had been evenly matched, the synchronicity had been almost perfect for their first time, and if they had more time, if they survived the next mission, he knew training would be very enjoyable.

Bond had made it out of the sparring 4-3 in his favor. It said something about Q and his abilities that he had landed three points. It said something about Bond that he hadn’t managed to keep the seemingly weaker opponent at bay.

It said a whole lot about his instincts as a pilot. He had loved every second of it and he had enjoyed seeing the quartermaster in action. He had known what he was doing and he had received training at some point.

Suited up in the black and blue colored Drivesuit with the silvery highlights, Q looked almost like he had never worn anything else. The grace and competence were reflected in his gait, the silent knowledge that he knew this inside out.

“Black becomes you, Q.”

“Shut up, 007,” was the light reply.

They had gotten to know each other in the last few days, training together, eating together, spending a lot of free hours getting to know the other man. Q wasn’t a thin, gangly science nerd. He had muscle underneath those cardigans, trained muscle. He went to the gym on a regular basis.

Bond had liked what he had seen when both men had sparred. He had appreciated the sight of the sinewy form, the grace in each martial arts move. No, Q wasn’t untrained.

He was also… unique. Interesting. He was a challenge for Bond and James Bond thrived on challenged. The man was a genius, one of six people in the world who could read and understand omega core codes.

James liked the quiet snark, the ready comebacks, the banter. He liked that Q wasn’t really impressed by him, his past kills, his experience. Nor did he react to the silent deadliness, the darkness that was innate in Bond, the killer inside him that thrived on tearing a Kaiju apart.

He liked him. Period.

And the way M looked at him, it was very obvious.

Something between them had already clicked. Something was building, something was taking on shape and form.

Of course, with the Drift they were about to try all the small talk and shared hours would become meaningless. The Drift was like a mind meld, two individuals becoming one. Bond would know everything about Q. Every last detail. He would have his memories, the emotions, the instincts.

Drifting allowed them to act as one and control the very movement of the Jaeger itself, one pilot controlling the right hemisphere, the other the left hemisphere. They would have one mind, one thought, one instinct.

“Initiating launch operations.”

The technicians were swarming around them, the spinal clamps fitting smoothly into place with soft clicks. Bond rolled his shoulders, feeling the first tingles of the connection. He put on his helmet, the Relay Gel sinking into the suit, reading to transmit the impulses between both pilots.

Logging into the guidance control, Bond checked Skyfall’s status. She was powering up nicely. The digital HUD went online, the virtual environment bathing everything in a soft blue. The physical controls locked into place.

“Remember, don’t chase the rabbit,” he told his soon-to-be Drift partner.

Q shot him an annoyed look. “I know the drill.”

“Just checking. You are a rookie despite all your theoretical knowledge.”

The annoyance grew and Bond grinned at him. It was something he had noted happening between them. Their back and forth verbal play, the banter, the taunting and teasing, the way Bond shadowed his new co-pilot.

And Q would either look exasperated, annoyed or scolding.

It puzzled those who were around them, who had watched the new team for the past days, and who had bets going on whether Bond had lost it in choosing the quartermaster.

No one could understand what it was like to have Q around him.

That he felt more relaxed than any time before. That he liked the quiet hours when he simply watched the other man at work. That he lived for their verbal exchanges, the sparring, the arguments, the snappy replies.

James Bond felt more alive. He felt like his old self. The dark hole inside him, the emptiness of Vesper, where she had been, was still there, but the darkness was now only a quiet hum that had him at ease.

Around Q.

“I’m not a novice,” Q said evenly, pulling Bond out of his thoughts.

“You are, Q.”

The glare was reviving.

During the Drift, pilots would lapse into silence. Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers or R.A.B.I.T. simply meant that one of the pilots latched onto a memory, focusing on it completely, chasing it down. He would freeze in that moment. The emotions from the memory typically translated into actions for the Jaeger, depending on the hemisphere the pilot was calibrated to.

There had been very intense reactions in some Drifts and Bond had had one with Eve when they had Drifted. She had nearly managed to launch Skyfall Prime and rampage through the Shatterdome.

There was nothing more intimate than this neural bridge. There was no hiding, no lies, nothing.

And there was no shame.

Everything was there for the other half to see.

It was literally a peek into someone else’s head, someone else’s soul. With all the consequences, good or bad.

Bond wondered what it would be like to peek into Q’s, what secrets he hid, what lay beneath that unassuming exterior.

“Pons is ready,” a voice announced. Bill Tanner, the Chief LOCCENT Officer. “Prepare for neural handshake.”

Bond glanced to his right, saw the slender, suited up form of his co-pilot.

“Neural Handshake in fifteen seconds.”

Q met his eyes, projecting nothing but calm and control.

“Ten. Pilot-to-pilot connection engaged,” the female voice told them evenly.

“Nine.”

The Jaeger A.I.

“Eight.”

It was time for man to become the machine.

“Seven.”

“Any last words, Q?”

“Six.”

Q’s expression was calm, neutral. “This is a supremely bad idea.”

“Five.”

His lips curled into a little smile. No, it wasn’t. He knew they would be beyond comparison.

“Four.”

“Gentlemen, are you ready to Drift?” Tanner asked.

“Three.”

“Bring it on,” Bond challenged.

“Two.”

“One.”

As the voice hit zero, Bond felt the pull of the Drift and he let it happen. He hadn’t Drifted in months, but it was as if he had never gotten off that horse. He felt the rush of another mind melding into his, saw flashes of memories, of emotions, felt the presence glide and whirl around him.

It was sensual.

Almost sexual.

It was a kind of intimacy that couldn’t be achieved outside the neural bridge.

And he let it happen.


	3. Chapter 3

“Two pilots engaged in neural bridge,” the Jaeger A.I. announced.

 

 

Bond stood in the Headspace, the joint consciousness of the command crew.

\-- felt and saw and was Q

\-- was Kian Whitmarsh

\-- was the youngest quartermaster of the Shatterdome

\-- was the genius engineer who understood Jaegers like no one else.

\-- was the lone child whose mother died when he was five, whose father had no idea what to do with him.

\-- was the fifteen year old MIT student who ended up with two doctorates

\-- was the boy who had developed better neural bridges, better Pons, ever since he had laid eyes on the designs.

\-- was the teenager assisting Dr. Caitlin Lightcap in creating better interfaces, perfecting the neural bridge.

\-- wrote programming codes that rivaled those of Dr. Hermann Gottlieb

\-- felt the cool, controlled intellect, mixed with the emotions of a young man who had lost too much and had worked through it in his own way

\-- was the genius mind who found balance in working with the Jaeger A.I.s, the tech, with people who didn’t look at his age, simply at his abilities

\-- who looked at James Bond, dressed only in sweat pants and a dark blue t-shirt, holding a wooden bo-staff, looking into those glacially blue eyes

\-- felt the connection and couldn’t… wouldn’t give in, didn’t want to submit, nor control.

It was all there, smooth and calming, so much less chaotic than his very first Drift, and James almost laughed in giddy happiness.

And it felt more than perfect. It felt so much stronger than Vesper ever had. It was… above and beyond every expectation.

 

 

Q didn’t fight the Drift, didn’t linger on any memory, just relaxed into the neural handshake, the sensation not unpleasant. He knew the theory, had been through enough training runs and tryouts in the Drops, and he went into the neural bridge without anything. There was no expectation, no fear, no old baggage.

There was only him.

And he was James Bond.

\-- was the boy sent off to boarding school because his parents thought it would give him the best education.

\-- was the boy who lost his parents in a simple skiing accidents, who was told about the loss by the old groundskeeper, who didn’t understand and hid in the old tunnels underneath the lodge for almost two days

\-- joined the British Navy

\-- rose to the rank of commander.

\-- watched the first Kaiju attack on San Francisco, feeling nothing but shock and pain and terror

\-- was the cool-headed man who became one of the most experienced and renowned Rangers.

\-- was compatible with Vesper Lynd

\-- watched her die, drown as she saved his life, as she freed him from the Conn-Pod of the severely damaged Skyfall, as she was pinned down by falling debris, as he was fighting to get her out and then…

\-- and then he was lost, adrift, screaming his pain at the world

_So much painpainpainpainpainPAIN!_

_Loss_

_Fear_

_Desperation_

_Anger_

_Fury!_

_So much anger, fury, boiling rage!_

_Whywhywhywhywhy?_

\-- was brought back by M, reluctant, dismissive of his own abilities.

\-- felt old and tired, and the burn inside him was nothing anyone could help with. The dark hole of loss and desperation, the refusal for psychological help.

\-- saw himself through Bond’s eyes, saw the recognition, felt the connection before they ever truly connected, before the Kwoon Combat Room fight.

\-- sensed the attraction on a level that was more than simply sexual, felt the Drift bring them together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

\-- felt… them… together.

The pain was suddenly secondary. The darkness ignored.

It was beautiful.

The turmoil of Bond’s soul, of James, around him, the chaos of pain and loss, was nothing he couldn’t handle. It was like his mind had been made for this.

 

 

Across a divide, Bond stood and watched him, face unreadable, waiting, watching, expectations low. He had seen Q and he knew the younger man had seen him.

All the damage.

The scars.

The abyss that was his very soul.

He knew he was a dark, broken thing, someone who could bring down another mind, could throw off the neural handshake, serious upset whoever tried to Drift with him.

Moneypenny had been frightened of that darkness, of the violence inside him, the bloody murder in his very soul.

But Q regarded him so calmly, Bond felt the quietness seep into him, smooth over the sharp waves of anger and loss and pain. It wrapped around his torn soul, cool and serene, patient and almost loving. Q was a rock in the stormy sea of the Drift, synching them. He held on to that rock, quieted his own darkness, without smothering it.

Nothing could take the ancient pain away.

Nothing could lessen it.

Until now.

 

 

“Synchronized,” the A.I. announced. “Neural handshake complete. Bridge holding steady.”

“Bloody hell!” Tanner could be heard from far off. Very far off. He sounded somehow impressed.

 

 

“Let’s see how she moves,” Bond said-thought.

Q smiled. “Let’s.”

 

 

In the Local Control Center, Bill Tanner’s eyes flew over the screens in front of him, then he smiled widely.

“Strong connection, sir.”

M stood behind him, face showing the tension he felt.

“It’s the strongest I’ve seen in a long time,” Tanner added. “This is incredible. They’re completely in sync!”

In the hangar, Skyfall was moving, going through the motions, systems checking, armor panels sliding into battle positions. The massive exoskeletal structure didn’t so much as falter once.

“Looking good,” Tanner told the two pilots. “Ready for a test run?”

“Ready,” Bond replied, voice professional, controlled, cool.

The hangar doors slid open and the deployment began.

 

*

 

Skyfall Prime wasn’t the sleekest of the still active Jaegers. That was Striker Eureka. She was an old model, a Mark-III, and she had seen battle. Her primary colors were a dark gray and black, some silver highlights here or there, and her designation and markings in the same bright silver.

Her logo, proudly emblazoned on the right side of her chest armor, was a gun barrel with six-sided rifling, from the point of view of the shooter. The sight was white, but there was the shadow of a Kaiju, with blue blood running partially over the screen.

She was bipedal, with two arms, and the Conn-Pod was head-shaped, like many of the post-Mark-I Jaegers. Like Gipsy Danger she appeared to be a heavily armored human being, just two hundred and eighty feet tall. Her hands had four fingers including the thumb, the middle finger larger, flat at the tip, with razor sharp edges. The other fingers had wicked spikes. Sharp, re-enforced blades were attached to both forearms, and her back was a mass of serrated spikes that stood up like ruffled back fur.

Skyfall’s armor was thick in places, made her heavy. Flaps stemming from her shoulders protected the back of her head and the base of the neck where the body connected with the Conn-Pod. She wasn’t a fast mover, more like a battering ram, able to withstand great force.

James Bond loved her. She had been his first Jaeger and he had never looked back. He had never wanted to pilot another Mark-III. He also didn’t want a newer model.

He was an old dog; so was Skyfall.

Q’s amusement drifted through the Headspace and he turned to his co-pilot, smirking.

“Not modern enough for you, Q?”

“You haven’t seen everything she can do now,” was the even answer, brows rising behind the visor. “Her specs were updated to align more with the more recent series of Jaegers.”

His voice held an ‘I told you so already, please listen for once’ tone that had Bond bite back an amused smile.

“Well, that’s why we are here.”

With one thought, they moved.

It was an awe-inspiring sight to behold as the Jaeger stomped through the water, heading for a piece of beach not far from the Shatterdome that would allow them the necessary maneuvering space.

They would test the sea-worthiness next.

Bond felt a thrill race through him, caught Q’s chuckle, and he didn’t even try to hold back.

It was so very good to be back at the helm!

 

* * *

 

Tanner looked ecstatic as the final results came in and Bond shot his new co-pilot an insufferable grin.

“Told you so,” he murmured, voice low, just for Q.

It got him raised eyebrows. “Menace,” Q murmured back.

Blue eyes lit up, bright and happy with emotions Bond hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Mallory watched them and he caught the Marshall’s slight smile.

“We’ll see you in six hours for the next Drift,” Tanner said. “Get some rest.”

Bond gave him a mock-salute. Q looked almost apologetically at their Chief LOCCENT Officer.

They left, walking back to their quarters.

“Hungry?” Bond asked.

“Shouldn’t you know?”

He laughed. It was a free, open laugh. “I should. Burger and crisps?”

“I hardly think they serve that kind of food at the moment. Last I heard it was some kind of casserole.”

“Which you would eat, too.”

“Which I would eat, too.”

They headed for the mess, close together, people shooting them looks as they passed by.

The new command crew of Skyfall Prime. An old, experienced elite ranger, and the quartermaster of the Vancouver Shatterdome. Not a match anyone could ever have thought of.

 

* * *

 

Ghost-Drifting was to be expected.

The feedback loop stayed sometimes, especially in strong pairs. Especially in connections that formed so smoothly, so perfectly.

Bond hadn’t really expected the flashes of memory and thought to be this strong right away, though. He hadn’t expected to share dreams, to lose himself in the sensation of Q with him, even though he was in his own quarters, across the hall, two doors between them.

With Vesper it had taken a few Drifts. In the beginning there had been faint, teasing echoes, little eddies of something that had already passed between them, and it had grown.

Q was stronger. His presence was overwhelmingly solid, just there, a fact in his life, stabilizing, balancing and… needed.

James lay awake, marveling at the sensation.

It wasn’t overwhelming just yet. It was a soft murmur compared to the real Drift, lapping at the edge of his consciousness.

Teasing.

Like flirting.

An intoxicating caress, the counter-balancing mind around him, peaceful, warm, his co-pilot.

And Bond smiled a little as he closed his eyes, sinking into the warm sensation of another mind, no longer connected to him through the Pons, and still so close that he didn’t really want to let it go.

 

*

 

If Q had felt the Ghosts, he didn’t mention them, but the way he glanced at Bond, the way he met the wintery eyes, James knew it had been a two-sided experience.

 

 

They were airlifted to the Hong Kong Shatterdome just twenty-four hours later.

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

Their arrival in Hong Kong was right in the middle of a thunder shower. The sky was dark, the water churning with the winds, and if not for the clock showing Q that it was just after two p.m., he would have thought it was in the middle of the night.

Skyfall Prime hung underneath the eight heavy lift helicopters that had flown her from Vancouver to Hong Kong. She was lowered into the hangar bay and locked down on a platform, a gigantic, motionless figure. Around her, the tech teams swarmed, getting ready to connect her to her new home.

James Bond and Q had been aboard a separate helicopter. It touched down and when they stepped out, dressed in heavy, waterproof coats, they were almost immediately drenched. Water ran down in steady rivulets and Q’s hair was matted down under his cap.

They stood on the helicopter pad, looking out over the wide bay. Q could make out the shapes of the industrial plants close to the Shatterdome.

“Commander Bond, Mr. Whitmarsh.”

He turned and found himself facing the tall, imposing figure of Stacker Pentecost, Marshall of the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

“Welcome to Hong Kong.”

They shook hands and followed the other man inside. Everything was busy, the sound of welding, hammering, men and women shouting orders, the hum of engines as parts were carted around, it all was just like back home.

“We have cleared quarters for you,” Pentecost said and he was joined by a young, Japanese woman. “This is Mako Mori. She knows the Shatterdome inside out. She’ll get you to your quarters, answer any questions you have.”

Mako inclined her head in a greeting.

“Thank you,” Bond answered, sounding neutral, polite.

_Careful_ , Q thought.

Pentecost left them with Mako and she guided them through the bustle to their quarters.

The tour was brief, just the basics, since the Shatterdome was concentrating all its Jaegers and tech crews in one hangar bay. They were introduced to Tendo Choi, the Chief Jaeger Technician and LOCCENT officer. Q was busy taking it all in, eyes alight with something Bond had already seen before: he wanted to get his hands on the tech, wanted to look at their Jaeger, wanted to talk to their crew.

 

 

Twelve hours after their arrival, after unpacking the few belongings they had taken along, after a short nap and a long, hot shower, James Bond walked through the busy hangar.

It was a sad, sad sight, he mused. The only one active. There had been a time when the whole Shatterdome had been filled with active Jaegers and their teams.

A long time ago.

Aside from his clothes, he had taken only one personal item with him: the bulldog figurine. It had become something very personal for him. Like him it had survived; a symbol of his own survival and continued existence.

Q would probably laugh his perfect little arse off.

He nodded at the imposing figure of Aleksis Kaidonovsky, who was overseeing work on his Jaeger. His wife Sasha was at his side.

He had seen them several times already, easily standing out from the crowd with their platinum hair, his size and the dark beard, their whole, confident appearance. They were the only active Mark-I pilot pair. Their Jaeger was impressive, heavily armed, in peak condition, and had impressive kills under her belt. She might be the slowest, but she had successfully defended the Russian coastline for six years.

The Wei triplets usually kept to themselves, aside from maybe interacting with the techs maintaining their Mark-IV. Crimson Typhoon was a legend, a marketing brand, a unique Jaeger. The Weis passed their days playing basketball. At least he had never seen them do anything else.

Crimson Typhoon looked like a polished, glorified Jaeger commercial next to the sturdy, dark green Cherno Alpha.

Striker Eureka was a sight to behold. A Mark-V, sleek and deadly, piloted by a father-son duo, it was the one they were here to protect. It was the only Mark-V ever to be built. It was fast, agile, unmatched by any of the others.

Eleven kills. It was impressive.

Work was done on the back section of the massive Jaeger. It was where the payload would be attached.

Q joined him as Bond let himself drift through the hangar, eyes roaming around, taking in every detail. The young quartermaster hadn’t really unpacked or stayed in his quarters. He had immediately gone exploring, taking Mako up on her offer for a quick tour. He had spent a lot of time with the techs and engineers for Skyfall.

James had been highly amused when he had found him right there in the middle of every repair, upgrade and redesign. Q added to the programming code, altered sequences, upgraded the upgrades.

And he had been circling through the other teams, talking to them, exchanging information, lending a helping hand.

Within just six hours, Q was already a known factor around the Shatterdome hangar bay, as much a topic of chatter and gossip as Raleigh Becket had become when he had been pulled from his voluntary retirement.

The pilot teams knew who Q was.

That he was Vancouver’s quartermaster.

That he was the Double-Oh’s co-pilot.

That he was an untested rookie pilot without any fighting experience, like Mako Mori was too.

That he was a perfect match to a pilot who couldn’t be more of an opposite to him.

That Bond had wanted him out of the regular candidates.

Yes, it had drawn raised eyebrows.

Yes, it had generated talk.

But they also knew about the strong neural handshake and every pilot team knew how important that was. Nothing else mattered. Gender, race, age, relationships, familial bonds. It was all second to the Drift.

James was proud of his co-pilot. He knew they could do this.

“I’ve talked to the research scientists,” Q said, standing close to Bond, almost like they were locked together.

The closeness was far from unwanted. James had felt the Ghost-Drift more and more, had felt himself react to his younger partner, had been as close as possible since they had come here. Ghost-Drifting happened between strong matches, their minds still synched. Bond had never felt it more completely than with Q.

Closeness between pilots that weren’t married couples wasn’t uncommon and no one looked twice. They needed to be one, to Drift in sync, and whatever means were necessary, would be taken.

So far, the attraction hadn’t lessened and he knew Q wasn’t averse to it.

He had seen it in the Drift.

“To Dr. Gottlieb,” he added.

There was almost adoration there; almost. Gottlieb had written the programming code for the Mark-I Jaegers. He was a mathematical genius.

“His theories are… frightening and terrifyingly realistic in nature.”

James turned away from his study of the Jaeger, eyes only on Q. He briefly wondered when the energy would run out, when his young, genius co-pilot would power down, but so far he was like on overdrive.

“The Kaiju attacks used to come every twenty four weeks, then twelve weeks, followed by four,” he elaborated. “The last Kaiju attack was barely a week before Mutavore broke through the Kaiju Wall in Sydney. Dr. Gottlieb speculates that the next attacks would likely occur in hours before we are faced with a Double Event and then Triple Event. That would lead to our extinction.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He is a genius in his field.”

“That’s not what I was asking, Q.”

The younger man looked at the Jaeger in front of them again. “Yes. Yes, I believe him, even if Pentecost doesn’t. He’s still very much fixated on destroying the Breach. I hope they know what they are doing this time,” the quartermaster continued. “I saw their simulations. It always looks good in simulations, but my own theories on the Breach tell me that simply dropping this thing inside won’t solve our problem.”

“Our last chance,” Bond murmured.

Q nodded. “We’ll make it happen, 007.”

Bond smiled at him. “Yes, we will.”

His partner was watching him, eyes alert. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but close enough nevertheless. James had the feeling he had known Q all his life, had been there when he was a child, that they had gone through the same ups and downs, that he had been with him at MIT and that Q had been there for his Naval service.

It was eerie.

It was what happened when you Drifted.

It was even more eerie to think that Vesper hadn’t had such an impact. For them it had taken weeks, months, a long time. With Q, things had been progressively faster, more intense, and it was on-going.

They had three Drifts under their belt and nothing had changed. The intensity was there.

Both walked past the Jaegers standing silently in the hangar bay, their technicians, their workers, the command crews. Bond was almost shadowing his co-pilot, never leaving too much space between them. They were both wearing civilian clothes underneath the crew jackets that had Skyfall’s decals printed on the front and chest. Q had opted for a very colorful vest and a white shirt underneath, which had James smile a little to himself.

His quartermaster liked stylish, even if it was an odd combo sometimes. The black jeans didn’t help dissuade looks.

It was when they walked from the hangar back into the honeycombed corridors of the Shatterdome that he caught a glimpse of a verbal altercation between two pilots. One was Raleigh Becket, the one who had become a legend all of his own just before he had disappeared for five years.

Retired, some had said.

Bond snorted.

He had heard about the loss of his brother, how Yancy Becket had been torn out of the Drift, Raleigh feeling the pain and the fear, the terror, then death. He had managed to pilot a severely damaged Gipsy Danger back to the shores – alone.

He was one of two pilots who had ever managed that.

Bond had been surprised that the man hadn’t come out of it brain-damaged or worse.

Now he was back. And he was sparring verbally, as well as physically with Chuck Hansen, Herc Hansen’s son and co-pilot of Striker Eureka. He had heard from others how they had riled each other up, the rivalry something that had come almost immediately when Becket had arrived. Bond and Q had been the last team to make it to Hong Kong; after the first memorable encounter between those two.

“He’s holding back,” James remarked.

Q tilted his head a little. “It seems so. He’s a master martial artist. The PPDC trained him well.”

“Pacing the fight. Not even breaking into a sweat.” James looked impressed. “He could take the kid down with one blow. He doesn’t. Keeps him at arm’s length.”

He saw Q’s raised eyebrows, his thoughtful expression.

“They would be Drift compatible,” his partner commented, watching the shouting match.

“Emotions alone aren’t a guarantee for a strong Drift.”

Q shot him a look, one hard to interpret, one that Bond translated for himself as ‘Just keep on thinking that, bloody idiot’. He grinned.

Q headed for their respective quarters and James followed. “I have run enough match scenarios to know when two pilots can be good together.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Brothers, parent-child combinations, spouses, it’s all based on emotions.”

“Rivals?”

“They complement each other, 007. This between them, it’s a matter of opposition drawn from perceived rivalry. Chuck was raised by a Ranger father, grew up in an environment that consisted of nothing but the Jaegers and the pilots. No social circle outside the PPDC. He is a narcissistic persona, antagonistic to those he perceives as a threat to his position, and a perfectionist. He tries to prove himself, tries to be the best, needs to be the best, and he has the kills to prove him right. It makes him overconfident. His father balances that trait. The cool control and the spontaneous energy of his youth combine to form a very strong command crew.”

Bond raised an eyebrow.

“I studied the other pilots,” Q said, almost a little defensively.

“Of course you did.”

Q gave him a put-upon look.“We have to know who we are working with for this to succeed.”

“Of course we do.”

“As quartermaster of the Vancouver Shatterdome it was part of my job description. Know the pilots for the Jaegers. Just because I’ve been transferred and repositioned doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job.” There was slight indignation there.

“I never said you were.”

Q looked at him, brows drawn down over narrowed eyes. “You are a nightmare, 007.”

He grinned more. The sparks between them were almost palpable. It was almost physical, the attraction growing, the connection strengthening. Bond had seen this man in the Drift, had been Q, had shared his memories, and he knew… just knew…

Something had to give.

Soon.

And it would be one hell of an explosion.

“Becket has lost a lot,” his co-pilot continued, ignoring the overpowering presence beside him, “has been damaged more deeply than any physical wound can ever be, and it leaves him wandering. His match with Mako Mori is a good one, but for me it would seem that a Drift with Chuck could prove to be even stronger, more compatible, and in the end more satisfying.”

Bond smirked.

“Oh please,” the quartermaster muttered.

They had arrived in front of the hatch leading to Q’s quarters. Bond didn’t even hesitate to follow him inside.

“So you think they would be good together.”

“I know it.”

“And you knew we would be good together,” Bond challenged, a slow smile crossing his lips.

“It was a possibility.”

“A good one.”

Q was with his back against the wall, Bond leaning over him, hands left and right of the tousled head.

He didn’t shrink back. He didn’t so much as flinch. James was looking into the dark eyes, still hidden behind his ever-present glasses, and he wanted nothing more than this man.

Right now.

In the worst possible way.

It was tearing at him, like a vicious beast, overwhelmed his mind, made him think primal, very dirty thoughts.

“Still you fought it,” he said roughly.

“I’m not a pilot.”

“You weren’t a pilot,” he corrected him, plucking the glasses off the other man’s nose. “Now you’re my partner. You’re mine.”

Bond gave his quartermaster a teasing grin. The wintery eyes held a dark promise.

For the first time since that fateful meeting in the training chamber, Q looked oddly… vulnerable.

Young.

Endearing.

Perfect.

Bond fought down the need that rose inside him. Mine.

He leaned forward and caught the inviting lips in a first kiss.

Q didn’t freeze.

He didn’t think.

He reacted.

And the kiss was soon turning into a challenge all of its own, with neither side giving in. Bond was used to dominate, to the role of the controller, but not with this man. Not with his partner. Q wasn’t meek, he wasn’t shy, he wasn’t a wallflower. He knew what he wanted and he gave as good as he got.

Both men were breathing hard, eyes alight with a fire that had been burning between them since they had matched. Bond’s lips curled into a hungry, almost feral smile and he sank down in front of the slender form.

There was nothing tentative about the way James wrapped his mouth and tongue around Q’s hard cock.

There was no hesitation.

No doubt.

There was only the need to feel.

It felt like they were Drifting together, like he could feel the resonance of Q’s emotions, could hear him in his head.

It was perfect.

 

* * *

 

Skyfall Prime was in peak condition. Like the other four. Bond had checked out Cherno Alpha a few times, interested in the old Mark-I. While the Kaidonovskys were pilots of few words, he and them understood each other. Aleksis was a proud man and his wife knew where she stood as a Jaeger pilot.

They were respected.

They were maybe even slightly feared for their tenaciousness, their bite, their strength.

And they were close.

Bond could see it, in the way they didn’t touch, didn’t exchange private little looks. It was a pairing made of steel, quiet, dependable, completely assured of each other’s support and strength.

They had been a good choice.

Renowned for their legendary strike missions, Sasha and Aleksis also held the record as the only rangers with the longest and most stable neural handshake in the Corps, lasting up to eighteen hours.

“You either find the one you need to be at your best or you die,” Aleksis said over a cup of surprisingly good, strong coffee. “You and your co-pilot, you are.”

“Getting there,” Bond shrugged.

“No, there,” the Russian repeated. “Strong neural handshake. Strong connection. Strength.”

The smile was almost fearsome.

Yes. Q felt like a glove that fitted him perfectly. Strong and unyielding, taking everything in a stride without backing down or caving. He hadn’t rolled over under the domineering mind of James Bond. He had stood his ground and pushed back. Counter-balance.

Sasha’s cool, distant expression changed into something a little warmer at her husband’s words.

“You have Drifted, Bond,” she said. “You know how good you are. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. You know your partner. You have been in his brain. You know the truth and the depth of the trust. What else is there to do but act? Life is short. Live it.”

Sage advice.

Good advice.

He raised his mug, toasting her words with a little smile.

Sasha’s was that of a predator’s in return. “Who knows? You might break the record.”

He chuckled. “Who knows,” he echoed.

“Are you Ghosting?”

He shrugged.

Her eyes bore into his and the grin widened. “Yes, who knows,” she said once again. “You are on a good way. Grow strong. Don’t fight it.”

Bond met her sharp eyes. “I’m not.”

“Good. Very good.”

He let his lips curl into a faint smile as he saw her expression, aware that she knew exactly what he wasn’t fighting, how strong the Ghosts were. Even hours later.

He didn’t give a flying shit about it.

They might just die tomorrow after all.

 

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

Since Q was once again immersed in talking tech and codes with Dr. Gottlieb – or any of the engineers of the Jaegers -- Bond had taken to wandering the Shatterdome. Q had teased him about his ‘patrols’, but it was something in his blood: get to know your territory. Just like his co-pilot got to know the science teams, unable to resist getting into the thick of it all.

He got nods of recognition from some of the people he passed. Like all pilots he was a known factor.

“Hey, Double-Oh. Gone sight-seeing?” Herc teased when he joined him for a drink.

“Passing the time. Q is busy doing what he does best. Hip-deep in diesel and engine oil, rearranging codes and upgrading the upgrades.”

Herc raised an eyebrow. “You still call him Q?”

“It sticks.”

Yes, he was Kian Whitmarsh, but it really had stuck with James. He liked to tease him with it. Q had never protested or asked him to stop.

Hansen chuckled. “I guess. Watched the two of you in the Kwoon. He’s pretty good.”

“For a techie?”

Herc laughed, shaking his head. “Heard that a lot already?”

“I can read it in other people. Q wasn’t a candidate. He’s a genius engineer and programmer. I can’t wrap my head around what he can do, and I was in his head.”

The Australian grinned. “And more.”

Bond met the dancing blue-gray eyes, brows rising a little, but he didn’t comment.

“I read what Mallory sent Pentecost. You’re strong. New, but strong.”

Bond nursed his beer. “I know,” he finally murmured.

“His inexperience isn’t a problem. It never is when an experienced pilot gets a rookie partner. You match in the Kwoon Room, you match outside, too.”

He looked at the other man, aware of what was said in silence. Herc’s relationship with his own partner, his son, was far from ideal outside a Drift. In the Drift they worked seamlessly, were unbeatable. Outside it was tumultuous at best, catastrophic at worst. Herc was struggling with his son’s temper outbursts, his competitive nature, his aggression.

Herc shared a quick smile with him that was devoid of humor. He wanted a better relationship with his son, but the anger and pain inside Chuck was too strong. The blame he put on his father for his mother’s death.

One of the techs called him away. He went and Bond emptied the beer, then strolled toward Striker Eureka, watching them work on the Mark-V. She was a beauty, he had to give them that. She was sleek and deadly and a work of art.

There was an angry shout and he almost rolled his eyes as he saw Chuck Hansen verbally assault Raleigh Becket again. Becket looked almost too calm, just taking it, but there was a fire there, a warning.

Hansen said something Bond didn’t catch, but he caught the fist landing in the younger man’s face, the fury blossoming on Raleigh’s, then the pilot stormed off.

Chuck just stood there, chest heaving, a look of anger and confusion on his features. He wiped away the blood from his split lip, then shouldered through the onlookers that were already dispersing.

The Hansen-Becket fights didn’t really draw too much attention any more.

Bond strolled after Becket.

He found Raleigh in one of the Kwoon Rooms, looking drawn between fury and desperation, coupled with the need to fight down something he hadn’t been able to control all too well.

Anger. Loss. Pain. All bunched together in one memory.

James knew what had happened to Gipsy Danger, to Yancy Becket, to his younger brother. He had read the files and Q had commented on some evaluations. His partner had even dug up the psych report on Raleigh right before the man had disappeared, had joined the construction crews of the Anti-Kaiju Walls.

“What do you want, Double-Oh?” Raleigh growled, voice wavering a little.

“A work-out,” Bond simply said.

The younger man laughed, sounding tired. “Or gawk at the freak; the one guy who managed to pilot a Jaeger alone. Who got his brain fried and just doesn’t know it. Who ran instead of fighting.”

“The neural load of an interface with a Jaeger is too much for a single mind to bear, Raleigh. It kills you.” He picked up a staff and twirled it between his fingers. “The Drift is already a rough ride. To be the only one to buffer this, without a co-pilot, I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

The other ranger snorted derisively. “Yeah, you’re talking to a walking dead. Not really a zombie, not even a ghost.” Raleigh shook his head. “Just broken in so many places that nothing can repair it.”

“Still you are here.”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“Pentecost pitched a good sale?”

It got him a gritty kind of laugh. “Second chances and all.”

“You took it.”

A shrug. “Better than dying building another useless Wall.”

Bond leaned on the staff, raising an eyebrow as a clear offer.

“I’m not much of a match partner right now.”

He shrugged. “Easy tryout, going through the motions.”

Raleigh scrubbed a hand over his face. “You just want to wipe the floor with a has-been wash-out.”

James chuckled. “Welcome to the club, Raleigh.”

That got him a raised eyebrow.

Bond mimicked it. “Who am I?” he asked, spreading his arms.

“James Bond, Skyfall Prime. Last of the Vancouver Shatterdome. I was told who we had and who to still expect by Pentecost the first time I arrived.”

“That’s it.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Don’t need to know more.”

“You really have no idea about the other teams?”

“Not much sense in getting acquainted.”

“You should. Might prove vital in a fight.”

Raleigh rolled his eyes. “Keep clear of the Russians unless you need something.” He checked it off with one finger.

_Well, too late for that_ , Bond thought wryly.

And he liked them.

“The triplets do nothing but play basketball and kick anyone’s ass in martial arts.” Check number two.

“And speaking of which, I know Chuck’s a jackass.” He grinned.

“And an ace pilot.”

“Still an ass.”

“No argument from me.”

Raleigh sat down with his back against the wall, shaking his head. Bond just sank down beside him, watching the ranger.

Too many dark memories. Too much darkness all in all.

He knew the darkness and he knew how nightmarish such memories could be, though he hadn’t lost Vesper in a Drift. She hadn’t died while he had still been connected to her. Raleigh had gotten the full experience, every little detail. And what Q had told him, the young pilot still suffered from the occasional Ghost.

That had to be… more than bad. It had to be terrifying to listen to and see a dead person, feel his emotions, remember his memories.

“He’s young,” James finally said, almost conversationally. “He’s one of the best. He wants to be the best. He’s afraid of you. You’re a hero. The guy who piloted a Jaeger on his own and lived to tell about it.”

“Psych 101?”

“Common sense and some hacking.” He smirked.

Raleigh laughed, surprised. “I’m no threat,” he finally said, shaking his head. “He could just keep out of my way. Problem solved.”

And he could just be Raleigh’s match, Bond mused. He suspected Q was right. There was a definite pull between those two, even if it was arrogance and aggression on Chuck’s part, and defiance and old pain on Raleigh’s.

Becket had to confront what had happened and fight out of the abyss of loss and pain. Chuck had to grow up. Plain and simple. Whether that led to intimacy on a sexual level or the far more intimate connection of a Drift had to be seen.

Bond smirked a little.

They had said a few choice things about him not so long ago, too. M had dragged him back kicking and screaming and he hadn’t played along. It had taken her death to jolt him back to life. It had taken Q to make him want to fight again, and they had become both co-pilots and partners.

“You lost someone,” Raleigh broke into his thoughts, voice low, almost probing. “That’s why you know.”

“Everyone… nearly everyone here lost someone.”

The blue-gray eyes were hooded, knowing, probably aware of the deflection.

“Not like a pilot can lose someone.”

Bond gazed at the mat on the floor, noted the scuff marks, the dents, the abuse it had taken over the past years.

“She was my co-pilot.”

Raleigh was silent.

“We… were close.”

Still silence. Bond refused to look at the younger man. His whole body felt tense, tight, like he was about to seize, and his jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

“I still Ghost with him,” the other ranger broke the dark silence between them.

That had Bond turn. It was a really open confession in the presence of someone Raleigh didn’t even know. Becket smiled humorlessly.

“You’ve probably heard it around the Shatterdome already.”

“Rumors.”

Raleigh shrugged.

“Like I hear rumors about Chuck. Or the Kaidonovskys. Just rumors. I like the truth.”

“The truth is that Yancy is still very much a part of me. Breaking apart a Drift like that… Chuck is right. I’m brain-damaged. Finding Mako… it was luck.”

Bond leaned his head back against the wall, the ceiling above no more interesting than the floor mats.

“I refused to come back,” he said evenly. “When M was killed, I did. Because I wanted revenge. And to prove those idiots wrong, that I couldn’t find a compatible partner.”

Raleigh’s chewed his lower lip. “You found someone.”

The smile came almost unbidden. “Yes.”

“He fits.”

“Yes.”

The other man nodded.

“You found Mako Mori,” Bond reminded him gently.

“She is a good match. We’re a strong team.” He clenched and unclenched his hands.

But. There was a ‘but’ in there, a very loud one.

Bond didn’t comment. He waited.

“She knows what happened,” Raleigh finally said. “It… somehow didn’t scare her away, even though it should have. The baggage I carry… I thought… She understood. And she accepted me. That part of me is gone and that there’s a part that isn’t me… that’s Yancy. The part I’ll always carry.”

James remembered Moneypenny. She had been terrified from their one and only Drift because of what she had seen with Bond. She had touched the part that had been Vesper, what she had left in his brain, what would never leave. A footprint.

Mako wasn’t Moneypenny.

Mako wasn’t Yancy.

She didn’t follow the footprints. She would leave her own, whether she would remain Raleigh’s co-pilot or not.

“She is a very strong person,” he said.

“I know. I owe her. Pentecost got me back here, but she made it possible for me to pilot a Jaeger again.”

And now there was another challenge: Chuck Hansen, who wasn’t a viable co-pilot candidate for so many reasons – one was that he already had a match in Herc -- but someone Raleigh found himself drawn to. Just on another level. Bond had seen the tension between the two men and he knew Raleigh wanted something from Chuck that he wasn’t ready to pursue just yet. It was something else that had to heal first, not just scab over.

That Hansen kept clawing at those scabs, drawing blood again and again, didn’t really help in the matter.

Soft steps had them look toward the entrance. Mako stood there, calm as ever, expression somewhere between curious and polite. She held a tablet.

“Uh, hey,” Raleigh said, brows wrinkling. “Did I miss a briefing?”

Her smile was even more polite, but there was amusement dancing in her eyes. “No. I heard about your encounter with Chuck. I wondered how you are.”

“Good. Just fine.”

Riiight, Bond thought. Worst lie he had ever heard.

She looked at Bond and bowed her head slightly in greeting. “Commander Bond.”

“Just Bond. Or James.”

Another inclined head. “James.”

Bond climbed to his feet, giving the young woman a smile. “I’ll be off. I think I need to drag my partner away from all the shiny upgrades.”

Raleigh rose, too. “Bond? Thanks.”

He gave the other man a brief smile. “See you around, Raleigh.”

And then he left the two alone. An experienced, damaged pilot who had been dragged back into service, and a young, inexperienced pilot who hadn’t had a real fight before.

It sounded so very familiar, he thought, grinning to himself. So very, very familiar.

 

* * *

 

Bond nuzzled the mark he had left on the pale shoulder, licking over it, then up the sweaty neck. Teeth scraped over sensitive skin and Q shivered. Bond, while sated, was playful in a way that bordered on erotic. His fingers slid over sweat-slick skin, fondling his semi-hard dick and Q’s breath caught when his partner began to stroke it lovingly.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he groaned.

Because he was feeling a new wave of arousal, much less than before, little twitches all that came out of it.

“Hm, maybe.”

“You’re a menace.”

And then his partner slid down his body, that wicked tongue somewhere else and Q swallowed hard when a hot mouth engulfed him.

“James…” he stuttered, seeing himself disappear in that hot, wet mouth.

“Hm.” It was a hum, a vibration around his dick.

Fingers circled him and he didn’t fight the sensation, the caress, but his head thumped back hard when those fingers slipped inside him.

With the edge taken off, letting himself fall into the teasing stimulation was wonderful.

“James, god, please…” he begged.

The gleam in the glacially blue eyes told him that Bond knew just how sensitive he was, how much he wanted this. Knew that he trusted the older ranger.

It all turned Bond on even more. He was hard again and yearning, wanting it all, wanting the power and the submissiveness, knowing so very well that Q was anything but submissive or weak.

Q could only moan, his thoughts suddenly jumbled as Bond swallowed around him, two fingers sliding to just the right spot.

Q came again, his body tensing up and then flowing into pieces. He felt Bond’s release like a faint echo, and when the other man crawled up to lay down next to him, he was too limp to do much. Bond brushed a gentle hand over his stomach and Q smiled lazily.

“Sticky,” the quartermaster murmured.

It got him a grunt.

“Shower?”

“You move first.”

He smiled and slid his fingers into the messy, dark blond hair. Bond’s eyes opened a slit, the blue bright and sharp.

 

 

They made it to the shower eventually.

 

* * *

 

The alarm blaring through the Shatterdome had three Jaeger crews scrambling for their Conn-Pods, while two had to remain behind.

Both the Mark-III Jaegers.

That they weren’t sent out with the others was a mystery. It might be to have a last ace up their sleeves while Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon tackled what had been classified as two category 4 Kaiju. Striker Eureka was to protect the coastline, be the back-up, but they didn’t really want to risk any form of serious damage because of the bigger plans.

But wouldn’t it make more sense to have Striker safe and sound in the Shatterdome and let the four others battle it out with the Kaiju? Why risk so much?

A dark voice muttered that both Bond and Raleigh were paired with rookie co-pilots, that it might be the reason to hold them back, let the experienced command crews take care of matters.

He hated the voice. He despised the implications.

He could see his anger reflected in Raleigh’s face, watched him argue with Pentecost. But the Marshall wasn’t to be swayed. If anything, he grew even more icy, quietly ordering Raleigh to stand down.

Bond exchanged a knowing look with Q. This was about so much more than rookie pilots. This was also Pentecost’s personal life becoming mixed up with his Marshall duties.

“Two attacking together,” Q murmured, studying the screen. “The Double Event. After such a short amount of time.”

Gottlieb had been right.

It was frightening to think of what else he might be right about.

 

 

It was how they lost Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.

It was how five human pilots died and two Jaegers were destroyed.

Q was a pale, silent shadow at his side, tense, trembling with repressed fury.

James just curled a hand around the slender wrist, squeezing it gently. Jaeger pilots lived with the prospect of death every time they faced a Kaiju. It didn’t make it any easier when a team was lost.

And then the EMP blast silenced everything, rendering the Shatterdome and Striker Eureka deaf and blind.

 

tbc...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those readers who haven't watched Pacific Rim: the first scene in this chapter is held short and to the point because I'm not retelling the movie. Everything that happens after the EMP blast is kind of skipped in a few sentences. It's a longer, fantastic fight scene in the movie.

Gipsy Danger and Skyfall Prime were the only analog Jaegers still functional. The EMP had taken out everything digital, including the very advanced Striker Eureka.

“They are learning,” Q remarked as he dressed up in his Drivesuit. “They are weaponized to annihilate the enemy effectively.”

“But they didn’t figure we had some old tech left,” Bond grunted.

Before they connected to the Conn-Pod, James kissed his co-pilot, long and hard and deep, relaying all he felt. He wanted Q to feel it, wanted him to see it in his mind in the Drift, wanted the younger man to know that this was not just for now. It was for good.

From the smile he received he knew his message had gone over.

 

 

Bond had never felt such coldness, such brutal detachment from death and destruction, such cold-bloodedness, and it wasn’t just him. He was Drifting with Q and everything between them was open.

They were one.

They felt as one.

They fought as one.

They had Gipsy’s back, protected the silent and dark and defenseless Striker.

They got their kill.

 

* * *

 

The mood in the Shatterdome was muted, almost depressed, despite their success in killing two cat-4s. Lives had been lost, valuable Jaegers had been destroyed.

Striker Eureka was under full repair, as were the Mark-IIIs. It was what occupied the techs, what kept them from just running scared into the night.

No one knew if they could get the wrecked Jaegers out of the Pacific. No one knew if they would ever find the bodies.

A memorial service had been announced.

 

 

Bond was sitting with Herc Hansen, the injured half of the Hansen pilot team. His arm had been broken in the Kaiju confrontation and he would be unable to participate in the mission. He had a cut on his forehead that had been treated, and there were probably a lot of bruises everywhere.

Herc looked tired. His cheeks had a hollow to them that spoke of pain and exhaustion, the stubble more pronounced than ever. He was a slender, sinewy kind of man and right now he appeared like a breeze could topple him over.

Bond knew how the Australian felt. He had been through such horrifying moments in his life, when everything seemed to crumble around him, when the weight of the world was on his shoulders alone, and there was no one to share your grief with.

Except people you hardly knew. People you really couldn’t think of sharing something like this with.

Chuck was nowhere to be seen. Last anyone had seen of him was when he had stormed out of the Conn-Pod, furious.

He hadn’t even been to the infirmary to see how badly off his father was. James knew that some of that pain in Herc’s eyes wasn’t physical. He had a seamless match in his son when it came to fighting the Kaiju, controlling a Jaeger and being the damn best team they had. But on a personal level they were still no closer than before.

Q walked over to the two men, looking like one of research’s scientists, not a Jaeger co-pilot. All tousled hair, large glasses, wearing civilian clothes, not his Jaeger uniform. Hansen grinned, eyes shinign with a little more life.

“You make one hell of a damn good pilot, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Told you before. It’s Herc.”

“Herc,” Q acknowledged.

“James told me that you never had a real live fight before today. Impressive performance. You’re a natural. I know Tendo was awed by the strength of the neural handshake.”

Q just shrugged. Bond smiled at him, the wintery eyes softer than ever, the lines in his face no longer so deep.

“It’s always a good Drift,” he agreed.

“We can be glad that you have Striker’s back.”

“You won’t be able to pilot the Jaeger in your condition,” the quartermaster said calmly.

“No. Someone else will be his co-pilot.”

“Finding one this short-notice will be difficult.”

Herc grimaced. “Not really. There are options… someone who doesn’t bring anything into the Drift, who will be compatible.”

Bond raised his eyebrows. That from the co-pilot? It was… tell-tale.

Herc looked almost wistful. “Inside the Drift, Chuck and I, we are a strong combat team. Outside…” He sighed regretfully. “I’m to blame for how he turned out. I raised him in this environment and he became this cocky, self-assured, arrogant little son-of-a-bitch. He resents me. He blames me for his mother’s death. He thinks of me as a rival, not a partner.”

Q blinked, slightly floored by the open words.

“I love him. He is my son,” Herc went on. “But I blame myself for how he turned out. Just like he lays the blame on me.” He shrugged. “It makes us one hell of a team, but it also makes him one hell of a co-pilot for anyone else.”

“There is a match,” Q said openly.

Bond shot him a warning look.

“Though not for this mission,” he added.

Herc laughed wryly. “Raleigh, right?”

“Yes.”

Bond was a little surprised and Herc laughed more.

“I’m old, not blind. Hell, I can tell that their fighting is a lot more. If not for the end of the world about to come down on us, I’d say give it a shot. They would be great together and Raleigh would knock some sense and modesty back into that boy. But you’re right. For this mission, there is no other choice. Raleigh and Mako are fitting well together. Gipsy needs their kind of co-piloting. And Chuck… I know someone he can work with.”

Again, no further explanation.

Herc adjusted the sling with a little wince, then rose. “You better get some rest, boys. It’ll be a hell of a ride when we kick their asses back into the hole they crawled out of.”

And then he was gone.

Q rested his lower arms on the table, apparently lost in thought, and James simply watched him, eyes straying around the mess hall sometimes.

“Let’s get a breath of fresh air,” he finally said softly.

Q quirked a little smile. Then he followed his partner out of the mess and into the cavernous Shatterdome.

 

 

The memorial was held that night. It was brief, but intense, and everyone was there. The hangar bay was full of people and James kept at the back, in the shadows. He hated these kinds of things.

Q was at his side, a strong, unwavering presence, fingers brushing over Bond’s.

Pentecost’s speech was beautiful and there were tears, especially in the eyes of those who had known the killed pilots more closely.

Herc stood next to the Marshall, tall and proud, his face a bit more haggard than usual, and Chuck was beside him. The younger Hansen looked uncomfortable and ready to bolt, too, but there was a rigidity to his shoulders that spoke of military training. He would see this through to the end. He wasn’t a quitter.

Mako and Raleigh were in the crowd like Bond and Q. Mako expressed her sorrow through her eyes only. She was in complete control, almost stoic, but she kept close to Raleigh, who was pale and angry and appeared slightly sick.

Afterwards Q walked over to them and Bond followed. Mako gave them a tiny nod. Raleigh scrubbed a hand over his face.

“This was so useless!”

They were standing off to one side, close to the yawning, empty bay of Cherno Alpha.

“No argument from me,” Bond said.

“We cannot change it now,” Mako added quietly, looking pointedly at Raleigh.

His brows drew down, as if he wanted to argue, then he deflated a little. Q shared a small smile with James. Yes, she was good for him.

“Run?” Bond offered neutrally.

Raleigh exhaled sharply, then nodded. “Yeah.”

The Shatterdome had a decent track that had one been used by almost all pilots who wanted to work on their endurance. Now it wasn’t frequented all that much anymore.

Q remained behind with Mako, who said something and he responded with a kind smile, the two of them heading off to god knew where. Bond just followed the other pilot to the track.

It would be good to burn off the anger, the feeling of helplessness and fury.

 

* * *

 

For the next days, Q lost himself in work, in discussing Jaeger programming, weapon systems, armament and power cores with the crews of the three remaining Jaeger. Those of Crimson Typhoon and Cherno Alpha kept lending a hand, needed to do something, needed to work through the loss of lives.

They were readily included.

Every hand was needed.

Bond found himself watching Raleigh and Mako train.

Or watched Raleigh and Chuck fight every chance they had, whenever they met, even if it was a simple glare from Hansen that seemed to bounce off Raleigh. Even if it was just an insult that had no effect. Chuck was still digging, still needling, still trying to get a rise out of the older man.

It was eerie how right Q was, how close the two men were without acknowledging the fact. How Chuck kept biting back, kept pushing the peace offerings aside. He fought it all, tooth and nail. He didn’t want to give in, to surrender to the offer or a friendship that he wanted, despite his protests.

And Raleigh just stood his ground, steady and laid back, aware that he was the better fighter, but he never acted on it.

More mature than the other pilot, despite only a five year age difference. And so much more broken.

 

 

Raleigh sought him out, shared a beer, and they talked sometimes.

Few words.

But they understood each other.

In a way they weren’t all that different, despite everything else.

Raleigh was easy to like, easier to be around with, and Bond found himself relaxing just a little. The tension bled out, despite the looming threat on the horizon, despite talks of the Apocalypse coming.

Fight and die honorably as a Jaeger pilot. Or sit around and die.

“Pentecost’s pitch,” Raleigh had remarked once, sipping a soda. “Die in a Jaeger, go out fighting, or just die somewhere building the Wall.”

An easy choice. Bond’s had been almost the same.

“Marshall’s are all the same,” he had rumbled. “Manipulative bastards.”

“Enigmatic, manipulative bastards. Who know how to inspire loyalty.” Raleigh’s grin had been infectious.

“Isn’t that the bloody truth.”

"All these years, I've been living in the past, never really thought about the future until now. I never did have good timing."

Bond’s laugh was rough around the edges. “The bloody truth,” he said, voice low and a little ragged.

Because he had just begun to think of the future, too.

 

 

Mako joined them sometimes. James liked her calm, reserved manner, the fire hidden underneath, the strength she showed. She was a good counter-balance to Raleigh. Sharp, quick on the uptake, a keen observer. Nothing much slipped by her, especially when it came to her co-pilot.

And she wasn’t involved with him; aside from the Drifts.

Their closeness was one of strength and respect.

“She heals him,” Q had once remarked.

It was probably true. They all had pain in them, loss and desperation, but Raleigh had gone through something no one else could fathom. A Drift partner would be thrown into the understanding because he, and this case she, Mako, had to share that moment with him.

Mako was who Raleigh needed to function, to be at his best in a Jaeger. The private man, the man who wanted another kind of intimacy, had set his sights on Chuck Hansen.

Biggest asshole in the whole Shatterdome. And the most immature one.

“Match made in heaven,” Bond only remarked dryly after another glaring contest.

Well, Chuck had glared and tried to provoke the perceived usurper to his imaginary throne. Raleigh had simply regarded him evenly, without a challenge, a warning in his eyes that had somehow spooked the younger man.

He had backed down without even wanting to.

Raleigh was a tough son-of-a-bitch, he knew he had power, but he wielded it in a way Bond found fascinating.

“Match made in hell,” Q corrected with a shrug.

Wasn’t that the truth?

tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

Four days after losing nearly half their forces, four days training and preparing, repairing the damage and fortifying the Jaegers, it was time.

James hadn’t been away from Q in those four days.

They had trained together, had eaten and slept together, and the Ghost-Drifting seemed to intensify instead of abate.

Neither man cared.

It was a reflection of what they felt, how strongly they connected, how stable they were.

They had known each other for such a short time and things had changed so profoundly for Bond, it felt like he and Q had been together all their lives. James wasn’t scared by the Ghost-Drifting, by the closeness, by the intense emotions.

It would even out in time.

And they might be dead in a few days or a few weeks.

The Ghosts were welcome, an expression of what was between them, what he wanted with Q, what Q shared with him.

Neither man was big on public displays of affection. That was reserved for the privacy of their rooms. Outside, among others, they were physically close, but they never touched, never kissed, never so much as looked lovingly at each other. It was a professional façade that fooled no one. Everyone at the Shatterdome was used to pilots and how they interacted, publically or privately.

James Bond simply wasn’t a public man; he liked to keep his private matters private.

 

 

There were watchers whenever they were in the Kwoon. For many it was a kind of entertainment to watch the pilots train, alone or in teams, and neither man cared. Some of those watching were ranger trainees who didn’t have a chance, now and maybe not ever, to pilot a Jaeger.

Sometimes they were invited to try their skills.

Bond enjoyed the combat rounds with Q. He had found out right in their first confrontation that Q was a devious, fast fighter. He was sharp, analytical, and quick on the uptake. James taught him to keep an eye on his weaker side, to anticipate his moves, to expect the unexpected. Q taught him that brute force and strength wasn’t everything. Tactics, strategy, adaptive thinking, it all ran together.

Bond had seen the training in the Drift, the times Q had gone into a Kwoon sessions with other Vancouver pilots, with trainers, with whoever wanted to work out.

It had been impressive the first time he had seen it and it was impressive to have as a memory that had never happened to him. Like all Drift memories, it was sometimes easy to forget that this was another’s life, not his own.

But it wasn’t a hardship to know it, to sometimes pull apart the memories and separate them into his own and Q’s, only to let them flow together again.

 

 

Raleigh was there sometimes. He even sparred once or twice with both of them.

Easy workout.

Not trying to match them.

It was clear as daylight that neither of Skyfall’s pilots would ever be a possible Drift partner.

Watching him and Mako reminded James just why they had been teamed up. It was easy on the eye, fluid, dynamic, synchronized. Like a dance where both partners knew the steps.

 

 

Chuck was never there. At least where they could see him. He might have watched, but he was mostly prowling through the hangar bays and the Shatterdome’s seemingly endless hallways.

The loss had hit him hard.

The loss of two strong Jaegers and their crews.

The loss of his father as his co-pilot.

There was no way Herc would be able to work Striker Eureka with that break.

Chuck might have a big mouth – okay, so he was a big mouthed asshole on legs – but Herc was still his father, the only family he had left. Even if he blamed him for his mother’s death, or not that much anymore, or maybe not at all, there was a connection that had been formed throughout the Drifts they had shared.

He knew everything about the older man; there were no secrets. He knew about the guilt and the pain, his mourning, his fears and hopes and dreams, his past, his life. Just like Herc had gotten to know the kind of man Chuck was underneath all that aggressive mouthing off.

And both were emotionally stunted.

Bond had to laugh at that when Q remarked on it. Only the truth.

“You’d think they would finally accept it, both of them, after knowing the other inside out for years.”

“Never seen a man this stubborn,” James replied.

“Chuck’s the most socially inept adult I ever met,” Q commented. “You included.”

Bond snorted. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome, 007.”

 

 

Four days of watching the dance between Chuck and Raleigh.

Better than any soap.

Even Mako seemed fascinated by the push-pull aggression-fascination relationship that was developing.

Bond gave her a raised eyebrow that day she was having lunch with them. Raleigh and Chuck were doing their usual dance: Chuck was glaring at the older pilot. Everything he said was loaded with personal insults and implications. Raleigh just gave him those long, hard and somehow disappointed looks, then turned around and left with a prepacked sandwich and a soda. Chuck never looked like a victor. It was more the beaten puppy that quickly disappeared as well.

“No more physical altercations?” James finally asked.

“No. They are behaving.”

She sounded like she had given them both a slap on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. It would be just like her. He snorted and Mako looked like she was suppressing a knowing smile.

“In an ideal world they’d fight and make up,” Bond said casually.

“In an ideal world,” Mako agreed.

“You know he’s interested.”

She seemed endlessly fascinated by her fried rice. “Raleigh is a very careful man when it comes to personal relationships,” Mako finally said.

“Not fond of humanity, I know. And I understand. Been there, hated everyone, got over it.”

Bond glanced at where Q was busy reading on his tablet, sometimes quickly typing something or other one-handed while the other hand was holding a fork-full of pasta. There was his reason for letting go of that hatred, for wanting more from life. For accepting life.

“Raleigh isn’t the one who needs more time,” Mako simply remarked.

“That’s not difficult to see either. Problem is, one doesn’t move forward, the other always takes two steps back because he has no clue where he wants to go. Herc raised a damn good pilot, but as a human being, Chuck isn’t the best example of a psychologically healthy mind.”

Mako smiled. “He was raised in a war, thrust into a role at an early age. He saw the Jaegers as heroes, adored their pilots.”

“Like you?” he teased.

She blushed a little. “Your world view changes when everything around you dies, when you are rescued by this gigantic robot, when the man you see is the man who saved you. I was a child; so was Chuck. I lost my parents and my relatives didn’t want me, blamed me for their death.” At Bond’s look she added, “I’m a girl, James. A boy is someone to continue the family name, the line. A girl is… not that.”

“Ah. I see.”

Even in war times traditions and beliefs were hard to get rid off. Who in his right mind would abandon a child from a relative to fend for herself just because that child was a girl? He would never understand it.

“But I grew up with Marshall Pentecost. I was allowed to be a child. I never blamed him for anything. Chuck… has a lot of aggression inside him. This need to prove himself, to be better, stronger.”

“Hate and love in the same thought?”

She inclined her head. “Yes. Herc is his only living relative. He is his father. And his father made the choice to save his son, not his wife, the son’s mother.”

“He had to choose. He made the choice his wife would have made, had the roles been reversed,” he agreed.

“Yes. Chuck hates him and he loves him.”

“Like he loves and hates Raleigh?” Bond teased.

Mako chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

“He was a fan of Gipsy Danger,” Q spoke up, raising his eyes from the tablet screen. “Fallen heroes and all. It’s hard to discover that in reality your hero is only human, that they can hurt, can be afraid, can fail, can die.”

“Or that you can fall for one of them,” Bond added with a smirk. “That kid’s strategy is to hit where it hurts. Verbally. Tongue like a knife.”

“A questionable wooing strategy.”

Bond burst out laughing at Mako’s straight-forward words. Even Q had to grin. The younger woman’s smile grew.

Yes, Chuck Hansen went about social interaction completely the wrong way. Maybe it was Herc’s fault, that he had raised Chuck with this incredible sense of guilt on his own mind, which had skewed Chuck’s world view. Maybe it was Chuck’s stubborn insistence not to be swayed from his point of view when it came to others.

Whatever it was, there was little time left for the learning process to really take root. Well, to actually even start.

 

 

James also got to know the K-scientists a little better.

Mainly because of Q. Well, only because of Q.

His partner wasn’t just an engineer with Jaegers on his mind and circuit boards as pin-ups for his room. He was an inquiring mind, as they always said, and he wanted to know. The moment he developed an interest in something, he dove into it.

So he spent time in the K-labs. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb was the engineer present.

And then there was Dr. Newton Geiszler, please call me Newt.

Bond had no description for the man, other than what many called him: the Kaiju Groupie. He lived his work, he loved his work, and he was completely into the monsters from the deep. The tattoos were a first dead giveaway. James found it interesting that Newt had almost every Kaiju inked on his body.

Everywhere.

Not just his arms.

The man had no shame to pull up his shirt and show them the rest.

Gottlieb had looked mortified and ashamed in one, snapping at his colleague to stop stripping for the audience.

Newton had simply smirked. He was proud of those tattoos and he had already allocated space for the latest two Kaijus killed.

Bond wondered why he didn’t give the Jaegers equal skin space.

That every word out of his mouth was about Kaiju physiology was probably the explanation.

Yes, he loved his work and he loved Kaijus, in a scientific sense of the word.

What came as more of a shock was Newton’s adamant theory that one could Drift with a Kaiju brain.

That one always had Gottlieb blowing up, berating him on his work ethics and disregard for everything science stood for. That he also tore apart most of Newton’s theories didn’t seem to faze the other man. He seemed to thrive on opposition.

Q simply took the reports, went over the results, studied the theories, and found that, while dangerous, Newton had a solid ground to stand on.

“Theoretically,” he told Bond over a late lunch, “you can Drift with any brain. It’s a neural bridge, nothing more, nothing less. It was designed for two human brains, but what is a brain, really? An assortment of synapses. There is no minimum requirement for a Drift. You could attach yourself to anyone and anything.”

“If you can take it,” the Double-Oh replied, spearing a piece of meat of no discernible origin. It was better not to ask.

“Yes, there is that. But the theoretical proof is there.”

“And Newt is crazy enough to try it?”

Q smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t say crazy. He is… enthusiastically involved in his chosen field of research.”

James snorted a laugh. “Right. According to Dr. Gottlieb he’s a maniac who shouldn’t be allowed lab space, let alone share a lab with Gottlieb himself.”

“Dr. Gottlieb seems to be the opposite to his colleague,” Q agreed. “He is rather… fastidious. A good trait in a scientist. A clean work space and order prevents accidents.”

“Looking at Kaiju entrails all over the place isn’t enticing either.”

His partner grinned. Newton had rather questionable work methods and while he was a hands-on man, he took the meaning to a whole new level. Bond had never seen anyone up to his armpits in Kaiju guts, grinning madly, looking proudly at some twitching whatever-it-was-when-it-was-part-of-the-whole, and insisting that the music he listened to was classics.

“It’s a wonder Gottlieb hasn’t killed him yet.”

Q emptied his soda. “After almost two days with them, I think he grudgingly respects Newton’s advancements in the field, though he distastes the methods and finds the findings questionable at best, unless he has reviewed them himself and approved of the results.

“It doesn’t help Newt’s case that Pentecost listens to the hard sciences, that Gottlieb was right about the Double Event, and that understanding the Kaijus isn’t high on anyone’s list.”

“Killing is much easier than understanding.”

And wasn’t that the truth. Not that Bond thought that humanity had any chance of talking to the gigantic creatures, let alone strike up diplomatic talks. He agreed with many that the Kaijus were nothing but soldiers, close to mindless, following orders, and that the masters were pulling the strings from behind the Breach.

All he and the other Jaegers could do was hold their ground, drive back the enemy forces, and hope that they could seal the Breach for good.

Forever.

 

 

Nothing else happened in those four days. Their personal, live-action soap opera didn’t give them a new development. Raleigh and Chuck were stuck in an endless circle.

It was a dance and the peanut gallery enjoyed themselves.

James sometimes thought he might need to hit Chuck over the head with a crowbar, but he decided against it. They had to fight this battle on their own. He had fought and won his own.

And he wasn’t sure if anything could penetrate that hard head. Chuck wouldn’t come to his senses even if Striker fell on him and rattled his brain.

If the possible end of the world didn’t get them to move faster, jump over a few shadows and ignore the past, nothing he or anyone said or did would do it.

 

 

Then Pentecost announced they were ready.

 

 

And their lives changed yet again.

 

*

 

The final briefing was to the point and Bond looked at his co-pilot, reading the pale face correctly. This was a suicide mission for every Jaeger involved. Either they managed to close the Breach forever or the Kaijus would keep coming.

Striker Eureka was who they would have to keep safe. Two older Jaegers protecting the Mark-V, enabling it to drop the payload.

Nothing else mattered.

It was this or die.

It was their last chance.

 

*

 

That night, the last night, like any of the nights before, James Bond didn’t sleep alone. He couldn’t be alone. He needed to feel Q with him, touch him, listen to his heartbeat, his every gasp, his words of encouragement. He wanted to hear every dirty little, whispered a moan.

He was inevitably pulled to the other mind. It might just be a reaction to a person so different but still so very much like him. To Q. Feeling the attraction even outside the Headspace. Wanting nothing but touch the warm, naked skin.

He knew Q wouldn’t push him away.

They knew everything about the other.

They had Drifted together.

They were good together.

They were amazing together.

Possessive need rushed through him like a fever.

He didn’t give a fuck as to what tomorrow brought. This was now; this was them. He wanted to sink into the younger man, make him his, give everything he was, take everything that was Q.

It was the solid form, the muscles under deceptively soft and vulnerable skin that seemed to draw him closer and closer. Naked as Q was, the smooth chest for him to see and touch, Bond could also see the mark he had left on the other man already.

_Mine._

Q’s fingers wrapped around his arm. The contact was almost electric and the attraction he had felt since the very first time he had laid eyes on the other man was tenfold.

“What are you doing to me?” he breathed.

Q smiled a little. “No more than you do to me.”

Back in the beginning of the Drift technology, when the connection of a human brain to a mechanical body was still in its early development, there had been cases of Ghosting that had been outside the norm.

Not that Ghosting had been expected.

Even today it was a phenomenon that couldn’t be readily explained.

When two minds had been the solution to piloting the massive Jaegers, the shared neural load taking the strain off one mind, the Ghosts had been a common experience. Dr. Caitlin Lightcap, the creator of the Drift, had written pages and pages about the side effects, about different Drifts, how she had experienced her own, and she had made notes about the occasional odd team.

That very select few Ghost-Drifted even days after the end of a Drift.

That the lifepartners-team of Hydra Corinthian had shown such strong connections even a week later, it was beyond anything anyone had ever reported.

Hydra Corinthian’s pilots, Andy and Dario Mendez, had displayed signs of almost telepathic abilities, aware of the other wherever he was, able to tell whether he was hurt or just close, and their Drifts had been close to the strength of the Kaidanovskys.

Hydra had been killed by a cat-3 Kaiju just before the Panama City Shatterdome had been closed down.

Bond claimed Q’s mouth, diving into the kiss, wanting more and needing more. He slid his own hard length against Q’s, trying to keep them close together. His partner jerked a little, stuttering a breath, whispering his name. He sounded raw, open, but not broken.

“Turn,” he commanded, voice gritty, like he was chewing on broken glass.

Q did and the sight had Bond hiss a breath. He slipped two fingers into him, spreading them. Q’s hands clenched into fists and his ass lifted.

“In me,” he managed. “Now!”

Bond was so close, he didn’t really hear the words, only understood the need, and he pushed into the tightness of his partner. Q arched against him with a hiss.

Bond stilled, his brain kicking into gear and realizing that he hadn’t used a lot of lube…

“No, please, now, move!” Q begged, sounding too ragged to be thinking clearly any more. “Move!”

Bond pushed deeper, drawing an appreciative moan. Blunt nails dug into the mattress and his hips drove forward once more.

Pleasure sparked through him. Pleasure and almost primal lust. The need to feel it. The hunger for this man. They were Ghosting, feeling fragments of memories, feeling emotions, and neither one cared. Their minds synched without the Pons mechanism and it was the most glorious experience.

Harsh breaths could be heard, soft encouragements, groans of need and hunger and lust. Bond buried himself deep in the willing form, wanting all of Q, needing all of Q.

_Mine._

Maybe he said it out loud. Maybe it was just in his head.

And maybe he simply imagined hearing the echoed claim from Q.

James couldn’t last long like that, the pace hard and fast and almost punishing. Too brief, too intense, the orgasm ripping through him and his mind sliding away as he felt Q’s shudder, heard his groan of completion.

So gorgeous. So wonderful. All his. No one else. He wanted to protect this man, wanted to keep him safe and from harm, but Q wasn’t weak. He wasn’t a civilian. He was a ranger, a co-pilot, his co-pilot, and their Drift was one of the strongest out there.

Bond was insanely proud and terribly scared in one.

Q turned onto his back when James pulled out, looking breathless and sated. Bond looked at him in the stunned amazement he had come to associate with facing this man. He reached out and splayed his hand over the other’s stomach, feeling every breath.

The words between them remained unspoken.

Because they knew them already. The Drift left no secrets between partners.

It was the first time since Vesper that James felt anything, anything at all. It was the first time since that day, when he had lost everything, that he wanted something.

He wanted Q.

He wanted to live.

He wanted a tomorrow.

_I love you._

He whispered into the tousled hair, holding on to the slender form.

Or maybe he only thought it.

Or maybe it was only a dream.

Bond didn’t know. All he knew was that what he felt was real, what he wanted was real.

 

* * *

 

They woke on Bond’s bunk, naked, curled up with one another, and no shame between them. Q leaned over and kissed him, Bond’s stubble scratching over his own.

Today might be their last day.

Or it might be Day Zero, the day the war finally ended.

It meant the end, one way or the other.

He didn’t want to die, now that he had found this man. He didn’t want to.

Bond pushed those emotions back again, fighting the need to simply claim his partner again, show him how much he felt, how strongly.

“Don’t,” Q murmured, teeth catching on Bond’s lower lip.

James shivered. The soft bites were intoxicating.

Few words were exchanged as Bond slid into the willing form again, whispered soft words almost reverently.

He wanted to survive. He wanted to live to be with this man, to enjoy more than one night and one morning together.

Right now, nothing else but this mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, they would live to see the end of it all.

 

 

He dozed off for an hour, then he lay awake, watching Q sleep. The wavy hair, flopping over his forehead, tousled and a mess. His fingers carded into the longish strands, combing them gently.

Dark eyes cracked open, still filled with sleep, and James brushed back the wayward hair. He leaned over and kissed the other man.

_Mine._

Finally, he belonged.

Finally, he knew.

And finally, the old pain bled away.

 

tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure when it happened, but this fic has grown far, far, FAR larger than initially intended. When I first started it, the whole thing wasn't much longer than this chapter. It was actually never meant to be this monster. But my braincell is unpredictable and decided then and there that a few measly words weren't enough. I wanted to ge deeper into some stuff, like Bond's background, like his relationship with Q, like their view on the others. 
> 
> I think my downfall was downloading the soundtrack and listening to the main title repeatedly, until it was stuck in my head. Then I made myself at home on the Pacific Rim Wiki and things went to hell in a handbasket from there. 
> 
> For a quick fic it turned into an abomination and I'm not yet done, guys. I think I've just about passed the 50% marker now. I think you could call it obsessive writing disorder :P

_"Today, today… at the edge of our hope, at the end of our time, we've chosen not only to believe in ourselves but in each other. Today, there’s not a man nor woman in here that shall stand alone. Not today. Today we face the monsters that are at our door and bring the fight to them! Today, we are cancelling the apocalypse!"_

 

 

The alarm raised the whole of the Shatterdome into action.

Stacker Pentecost, Marshall of the Hong Kong Shatterdome and elite Jaeger pilot became Chuck’s new co-pilot. His last speech had been riveting, had fired them up.

It had been a shock for the younger Hansen to hear the news. He would fight without his father for the very first time.

He would be on his own.

There would be another mind, a new Drift, and Herc had to remain behind, the current Marshall of the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

It had been a moment filled with too many emotions to describe.

“If you have a shot, take it.”

Herc’s expression had never been so emotional. Too much between them had never been said. Too much had only been inside the Drift.

Now things would end.

This would have been the moment for a hug, for any kind of physical contact, but both men just looked at each other. Eyes said more than words, they claimed. Maybe in this case it was true. Maybe in this case, the hug might have been better.

Q had just looked at Bond, and both had known. This was a suicide mission in so many ways and Herc was sending out his son, the only living family member he still had. He couldn’t be there because of the broken arm, and Pentecost would take his place.

Herc would remain behind.

And probably watch his son die.

The pain had been almost palpable. And if Herc would have seen any chance to function as a co-pilot, he would have taken it.

Against good sense, against orders, so he didn’t have to stay and watch and feel the loss that was to come.

 

 

Around them the tech crew of Skyfall was busy attaching the cables to the feedback cradle, the full-spectrum neural transference plate on the back of their suits, like they had done so many times before.

The HUD in front of them lit up, showing them the Breach in real-time.

Their boots and wrists clamped into place, locked into the Conn-Pod’s controls.

“Pilot-to-pilot connection engaged.”

The interface complete, everyone but the two pilots left the Conn-Pod.

Bond pushed the dark thoughts away.

“Prepare for neural handshake.”

It was as always; intense, personal, intimate. It was Q and him, Kian and James, and it was the unfiltered truth.

“Engage drop,” Herc could be heard.

“Engaging drop,” Tendo replied matter-of-factly. “Good luck, guys.”

Oh, they would need it.

“Release for drop,” Bond responded automatically as Q’s fingers flew over the controls they barely ever needed the moment they were connected to Skyfall.

The launch bay doors groaned open almost simultaneously as the Conn-Pod locked into place and Skyfall Prime was go.

Not far from her, Gipsy Danger and Striker Eureka followed.

 

* * *

 

Two category 4 Kaijus had come out of the Breach, circling it in a holding pattern, waiting.

Waiting for what?

The answer came not much later as a third blip was detected coming out of the tunnel.

A category 5.

A Triple Event, just like predicted by Hermann Gottlieb.

Bloody hell!

Bond felt Q’s amazement, the slight curl of terror, the much larger interest in such a massive creature from beyond the Breach. Slattern, Raiju and Scunner they had been labeled.

Bigger than any before them.

Heavier than anything they had ever faced. Three thousand tons and more.

It was the first time they were fighting such an imposing enemy.

It might be the last.

 

*

 

They took heavy damage, just like Gipsy Danger. The other Mark-III was holding its own, despite being almost crippled, one leg nearly beyond use, and Striker Eureka was trying to get the payload ready. Skyfall was close to a major shutdown, but Q wasn’t a genius for nothing. Bond could only marvel how the younger man rerouted systems, gave them a bit more power, stabilized their shaken Jaeger, and pushed through the garbled mess of the neural interface.

That was when the information about their mission changed.

“Fuck!” Bond hissed as the frantic words from Newton Geiszler came through, sometimes interrupted or added to by his partner Hermann Gottlieb.

Q looked at him, eyes wide with shock and the realization that all the perfect planning had just been rendered useless.

They had to take a Kaiju with them inside the Breach. Only their DNA would insure that the payload wouldn’t detonate uselessly. The Breach scanned the DNA of any creature entering the inter-dimensional rift and the explosion would do no harm to it or the world on the other side. It would tear into the Earth and leave more open wounds and terrible scars.

James watched a trickle of blood run down Q’s face. He hadn’t really been aware of any injuries, even though they were Drifting. From Q’s expression he had caught that line of thought. And he answered it with the fact that Bond didn’t look any better. He had been injured as well.

“We can do this,” he murmured, fighting the haze.

They had to.

Get Striker Eureka to the Breach. Get them through. Protect them to their last breaths.

Things were turning into a blur of events.

It was all instinct.

Instinct and scraps of information coming through, sinking into their shared minds.

The payload was stuck.

Striker was unable to deploy it.

Gipsy killed one of the category-4s, but was already so severely damaged, she wasn’t even perceived as a threat any more as the two remaining Kaijus went for Striker.

Skyfall was struggling, trying to launch the elbow rockets, but like Gipsy, it was ignored. The Kaijus knew who the real threat was.

Pentecost decided to detonate the payload to take out the two Kaijus free the way into the Breach.

It would be a sacrifice.

To save Earth.

Plan B.

Gipsy would latch onto a Kaiju and go into the Breach, overload their nuclear reactor.

Bond and Q fought to get Skyfall up again from where she was on the floor of the ocean, one arm ripped off, the mid-section mangled.

Pain bounced between them, courtesy of the neural bridge, and Bond tried to separate whether it was from him or also from Q. Skyfall’s arm had been Q’s arm, so the loss had to be Q’s pain. Almost crippling pain.

Bond pushed through the waves, felt Q fight it, try to stay on top, try to function.

Something tore through the whole exo-skeleton as they got up, a sound like a creature in pain, but they got themselves upright. Accompanied by the creaks and groans of stressed metal.

“Escape pod deployed from Striker,” Q said, or thought, or simply observed without thinking or saying it.

Bond couldn’t be sure.

They were in a strong Drift, neither one an individual any more. This was what some pilots spoke of, what the Kaidonovskys had experienced before. This was a neural handshake that couldn’t be broken, probably not even through death.

Q was everywhere. Bond was surrounding him, was surrounded by him, was him and was himself. He was everything. They were one.

 

_They were in pain._

_They were bleeding._

_Skyfall was fading with them._

_They had to move!_

 

Bond saw the small escape pod, shooting away from Striker, and he was waiting for the second, but it didn’t come.

“We have to get it,” he whispered-thought.

Because the moment the payload went up, nothing in here would survive. There was enough detonation power in that nuclear bomb to evaporate a good-sized portion of the Pacific. And even if the pod made it through that, the radiation alone would be enough to kill the possible survivor.

Skyfall moved almost sluggishly to their commands, but they struggled to get her to the rising pod. The one good arm reached out, four fingers curling safely around the tiny capsule. They brought it close to the armored chest, then folded around it as much as possible.

The second pod never came.

Instead the detonation of the payload turned water into steam, created a hole in the Pacific, until the water rushed back in.

There was no up or down anymore as the water buoyed them around, as they were torn away from the Breach and flung into the vastness of the ocean.

Radiation sensors screamed, just before the system fizzed and died.

Protect the pod.

Get out of there alive.

It was all that mattered.

When everything around them cleared, alarms were ringing everywhere in the Conn-Pod. They were taking water. The systems were shot to hell. Their location was a matter of guess work.

But they were close to the coast line.

 

 

Not far from them, right over the Breach, Gipsy was holding on to the corpse of Slattern, jumping-falling-pushing themselves into the Breach, the nuclear power core already overloading for self-destruction.

One escape pod deployed.

 

 

They heard voices over the comm. lines, but everything was garbled.

 

 

Exhaustion weighed them down. Bond could feel his co-pilot faltering, but the strength of the Drift was still there. It was unbroken, perfectly in sync. Q was a fighter and it had never more clear than now.

There was still this burning pain in his right arm, the arm that had been torn half off Skyfall Prime, and Bond suspected a feedback loop, maybe worse.

There was no complaint.

Q knew he could take it.

He wouldn’t drown.

He wouldn’t shatter.

He wouldn’t even break.

It was there in the Drift, thoughts between them, clear as daylight for Bond to see. That incredible strength, that determination.

They could make it.

Disorientation set in, making them dizzy, the world lurching, but they struggled, they fought.

“We can do this,” Q whispered, biting back the nausea.

They had to make it.

 

 

A second escape pod rose from the depths. It bore Gipsy Danger’s markings.

 

 

They managed to get Skyfall as close as they could to the coast line with their depleted resources, then just let her sink to her knees with a teeth-rattling, bone-shaking thump.

No more finesse.

No real control.

It was all they could do not to have her keel over. Both pilots were in a world of pain already and the shocks racing through the battered frame were nothing.

Water sloshed off the massive exoskeleton, raining down on the churning waves.

They had no idea where they were.

The navigation was shot to hell.

Everything was shot to hell.

But they were alive.

The pod was still in the remaining hand, but it showed damage. Bond hoped and prayed that the pilot had survived. They angled the arm to get it very close to the Conn-Pod, the movement too jerky for Bond’s liking, but they didn’t lose the escape capsule.

“There,” Q managed through gritted teeth. “Looks stable enough.”

Disconnecting from the Pons was like a slap to the face. The sense of being a gigantic metal being was ripped out of his brain, facing him with the reality of his human existence; small, insignificant. Emergency lights bathed the Conn-Pod in an eerie, orange glow. The last warning sirens had been silenced.

That, more than anything, spoke of their bad shape.

Bond saw Q stumble, a groan escaping his lips, but the younger man caught himself. He was cradling his right arm, holding it close to his body, and his face was pale as a ghost.

 

_He hurt._

_God, he hurt._

_There wasn’t a place that wasn’t bruised._

 

The Drift was still there, the Ghost-Drift, that incredibly strong connection that wouldn’t let them part even when the neural bridge had been terminated. He felt the exhaustion like his own, he felt the pain, the desperation, mixed with hope. It were soft eddies, driven by stronger currents sometimes, and all he wanted was to gather his co-pilot into his arms, hold him, reassure him.

That it was over.

That they had won.

But they didn’t know it. They were on their own, mute, deaf, cut off from the Shatterdome.

An island in the dark, churning sea.

Somewhere in the distance, deep under water, the Breach might be already closed. Or it might be open and the next category-5 was on its way.

They might live a few more hours, watch the world burn. They might be on the brink of a new dawn, of the end of the war, of victory.

They didn’t know.

Closing his eyes, the Double-Oh felt a surge of nausea and he fought it down. He was dizzy, weak... and he wanted nothing more than to sit down, give in to his body’s demands right now.

But he couldn’t.

“The pod,” Q whispered, breaking into his thoughts.

His helmet was already off, the normally so tousled hair matted down with sweat.

James touched him then, had to touch him, stopped him for a second, looking into the pale face, the large eyes.

A callused hand gently cupped the slender neck, the rough thumb stroking over it. Blood was drying on that almost white skin and Q looked like he was pretty shook up.

Ghosts drifted between them. Heavy emotions, fragments of thoughts.

Bond didn’t touch the injured arm, knew from the neural feedback that Q didn’t want him to, that it was currently bearable, that he would wait until they were in the infirmary.

Q smiled at him then, reassuring, warm, loving.

They had been ready to die, but his survival instinct had never been greater, stronger, more pronounced. Even if this was victory, if the war was over, James Bond had no doubt about his future together with this man.

It was James who opened the hatch.

 

tbc...


	9. Chapter 9

The world outside was still dark, cold, the wind whipping harshly around the kneeling Jaeger. Water churned below them and in the distance, the clouds looked even darker.

“Storms coming,” Bond murmured. “Fast.”

Which meant they had to work fast, too. A Jaeger could easily withstand a storm. They could walk right into a hurricane and feel nothing but a few rumbles. But they weren’t inside and the pod wasn’t either.

The pod had suffered immensely from the explosion, even shielded by Skyfall’s physical presence. The Jaeger had taken the brunt force of the blast, her back a mass of blackened, blistered and cracked metal. Still, the escape capsule had taken damage, too. There were massive dents and the transparent screen had web-like cracks. Part of it looked almost melted, but it had held; it had taken no water.

Q stayed on Skyfall’s shoulder armor as Bond quickly climbed and slid down the massive arm to where the hand held the pod against the equally blackened and blistered chest armor. He was carrying a bag of tools with him. A harness lay snugly around the Drivesuit, keeping him moderately safe. Should he slip he wouldn’t fall into the ocean below.

The two men were tiny, tiny ants compared to the exoskeleton they piloted. Bond could fall into a crack of the armor and disappear, or end up wedged between the joints. But despite the general tiredness, he was moving surely, calmly, with grace and efficiency.

Getting the lid off was difficult. The release was stuck and brute force only yielded a few inches of room. Bond worked with brute force and the time pressure of the storm behind him.

The ejected pilot was Chuck Hansen. Under all the blood covering his face, it was rather hard to determine, actually. But there was no doubt. He was unconscious, had hopefully no internal injuries, but he was alive.

It took nearly thirty minutes to get the lid off. It tumbled into the waves two hundred feet below. James checked life signs and gave Q a thumbs up, then started to manhandle Chuck out of the pod and onto the cold, wet metal.

The man didn’t so much as twitch.

They managed to get Hansen into the Conn-Pod, even if it wasn’t exactly an approved method of transporting a probably seriously injured person. Bond couldn’t care less. They needed to get Chuck inside and Q had only one good arm.

He was simply glad Hansen was unconscious throughout the whole ordeal.

And it had started to rain.

The moment they were back inside the Conn-Pod, dripping water, looking cold and tired, they laid their patient onto an emergency blanket.

Removing the Drivesuit was another task, but they soon had their patient out of it, the parts flung into a corner. Bond immobilized the broken looking leg, wrapped numerous bleeding cuts, removed shrapnel from the sliced skin as he found it, and attached a collar to the pilot’s neck. A concussion was likely. They had nothing to clean the blood from the face and the bandage around his head was already soaking through again.

Chuck was breathing on his own. He seemed stable. Not all internal systems had blacked out, though most of them were beyond hope. What little had remained of the HUD’s systems told them that it didn’t look too bad.

Outside the storm was beating against Skyfall, but she was holding steady.

 

 

Chuck woke only once, groaning softly, blue eyes clouded with pain. There was confusion and fear, but also recognition.

“You’re aboard Skyfall Prime,” Bond said as he leaned over him. “We’re currently dead in the water, near the coastline, but I can’t tell you what country. Or continent.”

“Figures,” Chuck wheezed, fighting to stay conscious. “Kaiju?”

“You took them out,” Q answered, smiling slightly. “Two more kills for Striker Eureka.”

Hansen laughed breathlessly, looking pale and sick and in pain. He grimaced at the pain intensified. They had morphine in the emergency pack, but neither Bond nor Q was sure if that was the way to go. If Chuck had a concussion, dosing him up was the wrong move.

“Breach?”

“We don’t know. Skyfall’s systems are nearly shot. Long range is a no go. I’m just glad the internal sensor can tell us that you’re still breathing okay.”

“Yeah.”

Chuck closed his eyes, tired, exhausted. He lost consciousness soon after.

But he was breathing. His heart was beating. That was good. Very good.

Both pilots exchanged a look, then Bond nodded and rose, rooting through the emergency packages to get out the flare guns.

“I’ll check outside,” he murmured.

And then he was gone.

 

*

 

The storm had passed over them with no ill effects to speak of. Skyfall was already a heap of dead metal and nothing else could be torn from her that the Kaijus hadn’t already.

After making sure the internal systems were running stable, or as stable as he could get them, Q climbed outside to join his partner.

The air smelled cold and fresh and slightly of salt.

He had managed to link an internal alarm to his suit’s systems, alerting him should Chuck wake or if his condition declined. Right now the surviving pilot of Striker Eureka was blissfully unaware, asleep or unconscious, and he would give him a little time.

They would have to wake him again because of the possible concussion in an hour.

Q moved the fingers of his injured hand cautiously and from the look he received, James had caught the fringe sensation of pain, of bruises and burns.

But no broken bones.

 

_I’m fine._

_Fact is, you aren’t._

_Shaky. Vision blurring. Hurt. Still hurt so much._

 

The connection refused to transmit lies and Q was too tired and hurting to give a bloody shit. Everything still ran between them. Maybe it was the only reason they were still on their feet, that they hadn’t collapsed in a heap of exhaustion and pain. Q drew strength from the solid presence of James within him, and Bond was aware of his role.

They needed each other.

And their combined strength.

It wasn’t over yet.

It ran through Q’s head, that mantra to hold on, not to surrender to the pain, that they were still needed.

 

 

Bond’s eyes were on the dark ocean, the distant battle ground. Or at least where it would be. The Breach wasn’t visible from here. The first light of a new day was on the horizon. The rain hadn’t managed to wash the soot and grime and black burns off Skyfall’s armor. She still looked a miserable wreck.

The fragments from Q’s condition washed over him. He could feel Q, knew what he felt, knew he wasn’t okay, but right now there was nothing he could do.

It wasn’t over yet and they couldn’t let their guard down, couldn’t curl up and nurse their wounds.

“You think they’re looking for us? Know we’re here?” his partner asked.

His breath was clouding in front of his face. The dark hair was wind-whipped, the pale face lightly flushed from the frozen air.

James felt a million emotions unravel, wings unfurling like little birds, and he gave in to the need, the hunger, the sheer joy of still standing here, with Kian.

The kiss wasn’t really unexpected. It was sloppy, filled with pain and hope and desperation.

Q circled his good arm around his waist, held him, gentled the kiss, let it turn into something explorative, loving, warm.

“Don’t care right now,” Bond breathed when he finally drew back to rest his head against Q’s shoulder armor.

He felt shaky, knew there were fine tremors racing through his system, that Q felt them, but he didn’t care.

Not anymore. He didn’t care, didn’t want to care, wanted to be just James Bond. He was scared shitless, his adrenaline level so high he jumped at a whisper, and all he wanted was to curl up and hold on to his partner.

He wanted it to be over.

Desperately.

But both of them were almost literally in the dark. They had no radios, no working beacons. They had nothing but what they could see for themselves, and an injured ranger in the Conn-Pod.

“Chuck might care,” Q murmured into the grimy hair. “And his father,” he reminded his co-pilot gently.

It got him a rough laugh. “Yeah.”

Q brushed careful fingers along the sweat-slick, bloodied face. 

“Pentecost launched Chuck’s pod,” he said. “He saved his life.”

“He’s one of two pilots who are able to pilot a Jaeger alone,” James reminded him, still holding the younger man, head still on his shoulder. “It was his last fight.”

Q was silent.

“He had cancer,” Bond explained.

“Oh.”

Fate of many Mark-I pilots. Not that Bond had heard or seen anything of the like from the Kaidonovskys. Apparently the Russians had taken better care. Herc had been in a Mark-I, too. The man had piloted all models at least once. He hadn’t mentioned any health issues. Chuck would have known through the Drift.

“He was the perfect candidate,” Q said, sounding almost thoughtful. “Like Raleigh.”

They had no idea what had happened to Gipsy Danger.

“I should go back down,” Q finally said apologetically. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

Bond nodded, kissing him gently. “You do that.”

Q smiled, aware of so much between them, the Ghosts strong, connecting the two pilots in a way scientists had yet to find an explanation for. No one knew why Ghost-Drifting occurred outside the neural bridge.

James remained on top of the shoulder armor of Skyfall, watching the waves, the coast line, enjoying the salty, fresh air. Q climbed back inside to keep an eye on their rescued pilot.

 

*

 

Bond came back inside as the sun rose over the horizon. He found Q hunched over what looked like the insides of Skyfall’s Conn-Pod, all spread out on the floor.

“Keeping busy?” he teased as he surveyed the mess.

Even with only one fully functional arm, his left on top of that, Q had quickly pulled apart whatever he had gotten his fingers on. He was carefully using his right hand, the movements stiff, interrupted by winces. But James knew better than to say anything. Q was one determined engineer right now and he wasn’t above verbally slaying his co-pilot should he feel babied.

And he had never babied him. Q was one of the strongest men he had ever met, in a deceivingly breakable package, with a mind that was razor sharp and incredible to drift with.

“This is the beacon from one of the escape pods. The beacon won’t get activated unless we launch the pod from the main unit, which we can’t.”

“No power.” Bond nodded. At Q’s raised eyebrows he added, “I’m not just a stupid jockey, Q. I listen sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” the quartermaster said dubiously.

“So how do you want to activate it?”

“There’s a long and technical version, and there is the Bond version.”

“Cheeky little bastard.”

“Insufferable menace.”

“Well?”

“I’m rebuilding it.”

Bond waited. Nothing came.

“You are rebuilding it,” he finally echoed.

“Yes.”

“I think I’d understand it better with the long and technical version.”

“Go and check on Hansen. I have work to do.”

He mock saluted and did as Q had asked. Hansen was still unconscious, still breathing well, still had a strong pulse. The bleeding had stopped a while ago, though the bandage around his head looked like it needed changing.

So James set to that task, efficient and quick, checking the cut again.

When he returned to where Q was kneeling in the middle of a lot of pod parts, there was something that looked puzzled together out of those parts in front of him.

“You building a toaster?”

The exasperation was there, clear as daylight, but there was a fondness to it that had Bond feel a warmth he had come to associate with the younger man.

“Yes, a toaster that will hopefully get us an airlift out of here. The pod’s battery is in rather good shape. We have the second pod’s as back-up. I’ll see if it works.”

With that he was climbing into the access hatch to the pod, dragging cables out of it and jury-rigging whatever he had to. Bond kept his mouth shut. He didn’t offer help, to pull the cables, to rummage around the pod’s insides, or wherever else Q wanted something from. He simply watched, eyes on every move, feeling the echoes. He only lent a hand where needed and wanted.

Finally the contraption beeped once.

Q watched it like a hawk, then plugged what looked like a small control panel in it. He started to type and finally sat back.

 

_… feeling a wave of exhaustion, followed by a sense of nausea._

 

James tried to ignore the echoed sensation, but it was hard not to react.

“Seems like it’s working. Not sure how strong it is, though.”

James pulled him up, kissing the dry, chapped lips. “They’ll find us. If not, you might have to look into using the emergency batteries from the escape pods to power Skyfall long enough for us to move her closer to home.”

Q stared at him as if he had lost the last of his marbles. He swallowed the argument with a kiss, silencing Q’s protests, and finally the quartermaster sighed softly, looking at him with that familiar fond annoyance.

“They’ll find us,” James repeated, running his gloved thumb over the blood-and-sweat-streaked cheek.

The other man nodded once.

“Now let me look at that arm of yours.”

“I’m fine, 007.”

“You’re not. I’ve been good. Now I get to take a look at how much damage you did to it.”

“It wasn’t me!” came the indignant reply.

“The first hit was a Kaiju, but the rest you did yourself. Now shut up and let me look.”

Q relented. James removed the Drivesuit’s exterior. The suit was a complicated construction, consisting of multiple layers. Every pilot wore what looked like a fancy wetsuit underneath their individual armor. The engineers called it the circuitry suit since it consisted of a mesh of synaptic processors. The pattern of that mesh looked like circuitry on the outside of the undergarment, gleaming gold against the black polymer. The artificial synapses connected the pilot’s brain to the Jaeger, his exoskeleton, and commands were relayed without a noticeable lag time.

As was pain.

It had been an early understanding in the new technology that the pain enabled pilots to react faster, to react in real time and like in real life, because it wasn’t just something happening on a screen. It was happening to them.

They felt a Kaiju’s bite, a blow, a break. It wasn’t just a movie anymore.

The second layer of the Drivesuit was individually modeled to each pilot team, to each Jaeger. Pilots chose them. It was them. The outer layer was a sealed polycarbonate shell with full life support and the magnetic interfaces at the feet, spine and all major limb points. The outer shell locked the pilot into the Conn-Pod.

Bond peeled off what he could of the circuitry suit, using a knife to help. It was an intricate, complicated system and it was the cause of pilot injuries.

A known and accepted risk.

Raleigh had electrical burn scars on his skin from what had gone through the Drivesuit when Gipsy Danger had nearly been torn to pieces by Knifehead. His body showed just where Gipsy had been damaged the worst.

Now Q might end up with scars to compare, Bond thought wryly as he used the emergency kit to carefully but effectively clean the burns and wrap them in gauze.

Q didn’t make a sound, but he was tense, face ghostly white, lips bloodless. His eyes appeared huge.

There could be nerve damage, Bond thought. Scars were one thing. But nerve damage…

“James.”

He looked up, caught. Q appeared terribly young, terribly vulnerable, and still there was this core of steel, that strength that matched his own. Q’s left hand wrapped around his own, gently freeing the bandaged arm.

“It’ll be okay,” the quartermaster said softly.

Yes. It would be okay.

They were alive. It would be okay.

 

tbc...


	10. Chapter 10

Helicopters churned through the cold, bleary morning. They were following the emergency beacons of two escape pods deployed from Gipsy Danger, as well as looking for Skyfall Prime.

While it wasn’t really hard to miss a two-hundred-eighty foot Jaeger, Skyfall hadn’t actually ended up where they had predicted she might be. The beacon Q had cobbled together was weak and the Shatterdome’s arrays picked it up on and off.

A search pattern had been agreed upon.

 

 

Raleigh and Mako were found alive and well. Both escape pods had protected them.

 

 

It took the search and rescue team almost eight hours to get to them. Another half hour was needed to airlift Chuck back to the Shatterdome; he was a priority because of his injuries.

Q and Bond were next, looking a lot worse for wear, but their cuts and bruises were minor.

It could have been so much worse.

It was the time they found out that they had won.

The Breach was closed.

Gipsy Danger was a loss as she had been dumped into the Breach, her nuclear core exploding and taking out not only the Breach but probably a whole world on the other side.

Bond felt no remorse.

It had been a kill or be killed war.

They had been lucky.

 

* * *

 

Herc was there when they were brought in, the helicopter landing in a storm of water and debris. Medical personnel was swarming the area. They were all over them even though Bond tried to fend them off.

“I’m fine!” he snapped at one of the nurses.

The man wasn’t deterred, his hands firm, his expression stern and unwavering. A doctor was suddenly right in his face and Bond fought not to be too far from where Q was already on a gurney.

The Marshall’s eyes found his and he gave the Double-Oh a nod, relief etched into his tired face. Herc looked ready to drop any moment, staying on his feet by sheer determination.

Like Bond.

Who didn’t want a gurney or a wheelchair.

“Kian,” he snarled. “Let me see my partner!”

They hadn’t had time to get out of the Drift, to push the Ghosts into the drawers to deal with later. The stress and the adrenaline and the pain bouncing between them had James on edge, fighting tooth and nail, and he couldn’t stand being separated.

Then the emergency crew blocked his field of vision again.

Q was wheeled away, his arm secured, his face as pale as the sheets he was on, and Bond felt a wave of exhaustion he didn’t know where exactly it came from. His and Q’s thoughts were blurring again. It was all instinct, to fight the helping hands, to want to be close to his partner.

“Let him be!” Herc’s voice suddenly barked. “Damnit! Let him go the fuck to his partner! Who taught you how to handle injured Jaeger pilots?!”

Another flurry of movement and he was allowed to walk with the stretcher, his fingers brushing over the Drivesuit on Q’s good arm.

 

_I’ll be fine._

_Yes, you will be._

_Let them help you._

 

James drew a shuddering breath. He was fine. Better than Q anyway. He was just bruised and tired, running on adrenaline alone.

Things were blurring again.

Hands gripped his face and held it tight.

“Bond? Fuck!”

Herc. It was Herc.

Q in his mind, they were sharing each other, he could feel him, felt that Kian knew what was happening to him, but he couldn't calm down; the fear was too great. He struggled even harder. The hands still held his head in a vice-like grip and finally words filtered through.

“He’s safe, Bond! James, do you understand? Stop the Drift, damnit.”

 

_Let them help._

_Let them help us._

 

His body went limp and he tried to force his eyes open. It was an effort. The blurry image that greeted him turned into a face.

“Relax,” Herc said, still holding him, those blue-gray eyes intense, commanding, accepting no bullshit. “It’ll be okay.”

It was like someone had injected him with morphine.

And then the world gave out around him.

 

* * *

 

They spent the rest of the day in Medical. There was no arguing with the doctor in charge. She was a formidable woman who wouldn’t take crap from anyone.

Least of all Jaeger pilots who thought they could diagnose themselves.

Especially Jaeger pilots who had collapsed in a heap and had been close to unconscious for almost thirty minutes.

Q joined his co-pilot after his last exam was done, smiling at Bond’s sour expression. They were both out of their Drivesuits and dressed in dark blue sweats. Q’s right arm was wrapped in gauze, his burns treated, and the arm was in a sling. His fingers were equally wrapped up, the sides of a thicker padding visible between the individual digits, and only his pads peeked out.

The arm was strapped to his body to keep it immobile while it healed. The pain medication helped keep the pain away, but it wouldn’t last forever. And with the bruises, he looked definitely like a bad case of roadkill.

They needed rest; sleep. They needed to unwind.

Doctor Weng Lee had been adamant about it, threatening them with a sedative, but Bond had simply ignored the man.

All he wanted was to be close to Kian, to feel him physically, not just through the gentle, psychic link they shared. The Ghosts were welcome, but the real touch was preferred.

“Could be worse,” Q only said. “We could be dead.”

Yes, they could be. As it was, a few burns and bruises were nothing. The doctors were positive that Q had suffered no nerve damage, that he would regain use of all his fingers, that his range of motion hadn’t suffered.

James interlaced their fingers, not caring who might stumble in on them. They had a shared room, just two beds, and it gave them a little privacy. It was standard for teams to be in the same room after they were injured throughout a Drift. It was hard for them to be apart from each other, so the medical personnel had adjusted procedure accordingly throughout the early years.

They should have thought of that when the two pilots had come in, Bond mused darkly.

Q squeezed his hand, so very much aware of his thoughts. He let their minds touch, a soft brush over his senses, like a kiss, a gentle caress over his face, and James almost leaned into the non-existent touch.

Radiation had been a big concern. The Mark-III were the last to be nuclear powered, replaced by the more advanced Mark-IVs in 2018. Cancer had been a great concern for the pilots back then. With the damage to Skyfall Prime, doctors had been all over them.

Neither man had suffered radiation burns or contamination. Their levels were normal. The Drivesuits had protected them and the core’s shields had held.

Around the Shatterdome, celebrations were ongoing. People mourned the dead and celebrated the end of the war in one.

The War Clock had been reset to zero. This time there would be no new countdown until the next Kaiju attack. This time it had finally been stopped.

Day Zero. Or maybe Day One. Of a new life, a new chance, of rebuilding the world.

Of getting bloody arse drunk, of passing out from too much partying and too much alcohol.

It was a good way to celebrate.

It was the best.

Chuck was still in treatment. Bond hadn’t caught the complete list of injuries, but the broken leg was a concern, might warrant surgery, and he had cracked some ribs. No one wanted to speculate whether or not he would ever be able to pilot a Jaeger again. Right now that didn’t matter.

Raleigh and Mako had been equally confined, examined for radiation exposure, and ordered to stay the night. Raleigh had suffered mild electrical burns, too. It wasn’t a great concern since some burn salve was already alleviating the pain. There might not even be a scar.

Q’s eyes kept sliding shut. He looked too pale again for James’ liking, too exhausted, and the cut on his face, running across his temple and almost down the left cheek, the bruises on his neck, the way his usually tousled hair hung limply into his forehead, it all only enhanced how young the quartermaster looked. Younger than his actual years.

_I’m so robbing the cradle_ , Bond thought, his brain giddy on too much adrenaline that was just now abating.

They would crash spectacularly soon, the two of them. Right now the high was still holding on, but the moment their brains and bodies caught up to what had happened, all bets were off.

He kept running his thumb over the soft skin of Q’s hand, then he leaned over and brushed a soft kiss against the uninjured temple.

Q’s eyes sharpened, were filled with more understanding than Bond would have thought possible. He met Bond’s lips, the kiss soft, reassuring, with nothing but gentleness. No need, no hunger, no sexual content.

They had made it.

The door to their room opened and Herc Hansen stepped in. His arm was still in a sling and his clothes looked rumpled, worn, like he had slept in them for a week when only a day had passed. He seemed as exhausted as anyone, but there was a smile on his face, his eyes filled with such relief and happiness, they shone with it. It smoothed out the deep lines. Gone was the raw anguish of the hours before, the soul-deep pain of knowing he had lost his only child. Pentecost had given him the greatest gift possible: his son. Alive and mostly in one piece. Everything else, the rehab time, the necessary therapy, the long treatments ahead, were secondary.

“You look like shit, guys.”

“Marshall,” Bond greeted him.

Herc shook his head, grinning. “Oh please! It’s still Herc. I’m probably only a temp until the PPDC finds someone crazy enough to run a Shatterdome.”

“They’d be crazy not to take you. You fit the job description,” Bond teased.

Herc chuckled. So much more relaxed, so much more at ease. The war was over, the Breach closed, and his son was alive. The latter was the most important.

Chuck was alive.

“Maybe. You okay?” he asked, looking at Bond.

“Yes. Thanks for back there.”

“Assholes out there. All of them. Not an ounce of common sense, trying to separate two injured co-pilots.” Herc shook his head, looking disgusted. “Like they haven’t had that before! Sorry lot they are.”

Yes, they could have handled that better, but it was water under the bridge. There had been many past incidents of the like, in every Shatterdome, when one pilot was injured and the other was still too close, too much into the neural connection, and with the force of Bond and Q’s Ghost-Drifting, it should have been expected.

“How’s Chuck?” Q asked, looking a little more alert, but he would crash soon.

“Still in surgery, but it’s looking good. Even the leg is just a clean break.” The relief was now audible as well. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

“It wasn’t us.”

The expression grew more somber, mournful, mixed with thankfulness. “Stacker. I know. The son-of-a-gun knew what he was doing. He had probably planned it. I knew he was sick, dying. I knew he wanted to bust some Kaiju ass, go out fighting. When he said he would co-pilot Striker…”

Herc stopped, the pain rising again, those memories of knowing his son was on a suicide mission still too fresh.

“He was the only one who could pull this off.”

It got Bond a snort. “Yeah. Asshole didn’t even say a thing.”

Because it might not have worked. They might have been stopped and destroyed before the end of the mission.

“I’m just glad he’s okay,” Q said calmly.

Herc nodded jerkily, visibly pulling himself out of the dark moments just before the launch of the mission.

“Heard you two got some bruises to show.” He gave Q a pointed look.

“Matching slings,” the younger man teased tiredly.

“Yeah, well, you had to go a little overboard. Mine was a clean break,” was the gruff reply, tinged with amusement. “Medical’s keeping you here for observation.”

Bond’s expression grew a little sour. “We’re fine. It’s unnecessary.”

“It’s procedure. You’re not missing much. Celebrations will be ongoing for a while. Get some rest. You’ll need it. And your bodies know they’ll need it. Adrenaline’s fun and games, all right, but the crash and burn’s a given.” Herc’s eyes were a little more serious. “You are one heck of a team. I’m glad we had you there. Might not have ended like this if you hadn’t been.”

To save his son, hung unspoken between them. To save the only family he had left. To save someone he had just started to really connect to, who had finally shown emotions when it came to his father.

Herc gave them a nod and left the room.

Bond had to hide a fond smile as Q started to list a little, and he elbowed him gently.

“Bed. Sleep.”

He got a sigh and a mumble, then Q climbed into the bed. Bond watched him, noticed the grimace as he jostled the arm, and headed for his own bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Q asked.

James was about to open his mouth when his co-pilot added,

“My arm’s my arm. It’ll ache whether you’re there or not. Now get over here, 007.”

Oh, grumpy when exhausted, in pain and running out of steam, he mused, but he followed the order.

He curled close to the younger man, both of them finding a good sleeping position that would Q take some weight off the arm and Bond wouldn’t accidentally bump into it. With his back against the wall, James insured that that wouldn’t happen.

Q was out like a light not much later and Bond suspected it was a mixture of pain medication and the exhaustion. He let his own mind slide along the Ghosts, let it drift in a way, and let go.

 

* * *

 

They were told they could go the next day, after another array of tests that all came back negative. Except for the bumps and bruises and lacerations, James was fine. Q’s bandages were changed and would need daily changes since the burns needed regular treatment.

Bond had a nurse explain to him what to do. The doctor would check him whenever Q had to come in.

It was good to be free, even if they were assaulted right away by people congratulating them, thanking them, inviting them to parties and quickly erected bars all around the hangar bay.

People wanted to shake their hands, wanted to clap them on their shoulders – though in Q’s case it was an aborted move, preceded by a dark glare from Bond -- wanted to take pictures. Some even asked for an autograph on their jackets, their caps or even fragments of Skyfall’s armor.

It was surreal.

When Q was jostled one more time, Bond snapped and moved between his partner, glaring more, moving them along briskly.

“I’m okay, James,” Q said, brows drawing down a little. “And I’m very well able to handle myself.”

“Of course you are.”

Q looked at him, face almost neutral, and then he smiled a little. Bond felt the echoes between them, his partner’s presence around him, inside him, touching him with his good hand, pulling him close.

“I am,” Q murmured and kissed him. “But I appreciate the bodyguard moment.”

James was breathing more easily when the door to their quarters was finally securely shut. Q laughed a little. He had been calm and polite to everyone, had smiled into the cameras.

“We’re heroes,” he said at Bond’s exasperated look.

“All of them are. We couldn’t have done this on our own. Every damn man, woman and child on this planet is a hero!”

“Fate of a Jaeger pilot.”

Bond growled something, then stripped off his clothes. “I need a shower.”

Q watched his appreciatively and James raised his eyebrows as he removed the last piece, his underwear. Then he turned and slowly walked into the bathroom, very much aware of the eyes on him.

 

 

A shower helped to feel clean again, to wash away the smell of antiseptics and whatever else they had been covered and treated with. Q wouldn’t be able to enjoy such pleasure, would have to wash down with a cloth. He had stripped off his clothes with Bond’s help and James had helped him clean. There had been nothing erotic about it, just the practical movements of needing to get rid of the smell.

Q was typing one-handed on his tablet when Bond emerged from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips, and he smiled when the blond pilot joined him.

“Hacking Medical, I see,” Bond remarked.

Q shrugged, regretting it immediately. Those bruises hurt and movement of his left shoulder echoed in his injured arm.

“Simply acquiring information.”

James leaned closer and his eyes scanned over the report.

Broken left leg. Two sprained fingers: ring and little finger. Sprained left wrist. Concussion. Bruises. Lacerations. Bruised ribs.

The list was long. It was filled with the appropriate medical terms and how each injury had been treated, what the prognosis was. The medical personnel had taken great care of documenting each and every step.

“Chuck’s doing fine. The concussion is probably the worst right now. He had surgery on his leg and they had to pin the bone back together with plates and screws, but he will hopefully regain full use. Luckily his knee was only bruised and the joint is fine. With therapy. I think we should drop by.”

Bond nodded. He studied the still too pale features of his partner, the angry red cut peeking out from under the butterfly bandages, and something inside him clenched again.

So close.

Q’s fingers of his good hand stroked over the day-old stubble, a smile gracing his lips, and he brushed their lips together.

“I know. But it didn’t.”

“Mind-reader,” he teased.

“Ghosting, James.”

He felt the Drift memories, felt the ceaseless waves between them, the sensation of Q still in his head.

Pushing the tablet out of the way, exerting gentle pressure, he had Q flat on his back, on his bed, with no resistance at all. Bond took great care to keep the right arm as motionless as possible, then curled up close to his partner. He felt slender but strong fingers card through his damp hair, their rhythm soothing.

So close.

But they were alive.

He planned to enjoy his second chance, his life.

 

tbc...


	11. Chapter 11

It didn’t matter to James if the Jaeger program would ever be reinstated or not.

At least right now, in this moment in time, as his mind was trying to work through what had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Currently it looked like they would continue. The United Nations had been shown that their bloody arse Wall hadn’t been able to protect anyone. It would be torn down, materials recycled, the cities rebuilt. There was talk about an early warning system.

There was a lot of talk.

Politicians were suddenly back on top of the food chain. There were elections to win, voters to pamper. Millions had lost their lives, millions more their homes, whole cities were nothing but rubble, but the political circus was right there.

Not that anyone at the Hong Kong Shatterdome cared all that much at the moment. Not that any of the survivors did.

There was a lot to think about. New lives, new chances, old dreams and new. People had a future to ponder. Others had their dead to bury, their homes to rebuild.

Research scientists like Newton Geiszler were rallying to pursue Kaiju studies. Organ harvesters and black market dealers like Hannibal Chau had shown that the Kaiju remains were valuable. Not just for remedies; to find a way to fight them. Reverse engineering was a rumored topic.

Know thy enemy.

The world was safe for now, but the Breach had shown that something was out there and it might be able to return. No one knew if the other dimension was closed for good, if the alien creatures had died, or if they might come back some time in the future.

They had already been to Earth once before, eradicating the dinosaurs. Who knew what might happen in a hundred years; or a thousand?

James Bond _didn’t care_ right now.

He also didn’t care about the celebrations.

He and Q had been to a few parties, showing up for a drink or two, talking to the techs and engineers. Q had talked shop for two hours until James had pulled him away with an exasperated expression.

They had seen Mako and Raleigh, both surrounded by people, all of them celebrating with them. Tendo had dragged them to a few more well-wishers and fans.

Newt had been there. And even Hermann, though he had probably been blackmailed into it by Geiszler. He was making a face at some of the going-ons, but it seemed more for show. He was more relaxed than Bond had ever seen before. Newt made up for the silence of his colleague with a never-ending waterfall of words. He seemed to be running on adrenaline alone, though that would end sooner or later.

Both K-scientists looked a bit paler than usual and the bloodshot eye hadn’t healed yet. Bond had gotten the brief version of what they had done, what risks they had taken to insure that the mission would be a success, and the Double-Oh agreed with Q that they were the bigger heroes.

When Q started to falter, lines of pain etching into his narrow face, James easily slid over to where he was talking to Newt.

He didn’t need words.

He didn’t need touch.

The nudge was felt and heard despite it.

Q gave him a little smile and from the way Newt watched them, from the tiny smile around his lips, he realized what was going on.

At Bond’s glance he tapped a finger against his temple. “Been there. Still there.”

“Still?” James inquired, frowning.

“Hey, I’m the first to Drift with an alien brain. Some side-effects were to be expected.”

“What about Dr. Gottlieb?”

“Yeah, well, he’s there. Kinda. It’s weird.” Newt grinned, looking more excited than scared. “But I’m in his head, too, so maybe he’ll loosen up. One can only hope.”

 

 

They left the party not much later.

It had been exhausting. Q looked ready to keel over. He kept rubbing over the bandaged arm and squeezing his eyes shut.

But it had also been worth it.

Bond carded his fingers into the long, dark strands, kissing his partner with emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe even for the first time.

_I love you._

He had survived.

_I love you._

They had survived.

_I love you._

And he wanted nothing more than to live, to enjoy this new chance, this second chance he had been given, like the whole world had been granted another chance.

When they separated, the dark eyes of the younger man were bright, alive, filled with something that almost had Bond withdraw.

He felt something like a nudge in his brain. There was no better word for it. It was Q, his presence, his mind entangled with Bond’s.

It felt calming. It was what he needed. James had never been so tactile with any of his past lovers before.

“I know,” the younger man only said.

From the Drift. From the Ghosts. He knew of the emotions, of the confession.

One not given lightly.

He had only ever loved one person and she had died.

“We made it,” Q added. “We’re here.”

Q wasn’t dead. It wasn’t a curse and never had been.

Bond’s eyes were automatically drawn to the very bright, very red line. It would probably leave a faint scar, he thought, distantly. Like the electrical burns.

The doctor was pleased with the development. The skin was soft, the arm remained flexible, just like every finger. Q was allowed to remove the sling if he felt he didn’t need it and light physical therapy had been started right away to keep the flexibility as high as it was.

Officially Q was still the quartermaster of the Vancouver Shatterdome, but as an active pilot he would need to resign that position soon. Bond had felt a small trickle of guilt at that.

“I want to be here,” Q told him, all calm and serious demeanor. “At your side. As long as you are a pilot, I won’t be anywhere else. Or are you looking at M’s chair?”

Bond laughed at that. He felt the Ghosts between them, clear as words.

No, he wouldn’t look into taking over. He wasn’t Marshall material. Mallory, on the other hand, would do a great job.

Q would remain Q in his head. Even with a new quartermaster on the horizon for Vancouver. He would be the perfect mix of engineer and co-pilot. He would be his perfect match. He was the only one he would ever Drift with.

“You’d make a great Marshall,” Q told him, looking very serious.

James cupped the youthful face, feeling a little stubble on the normally clean-shaven features.

“I’m a pilot.”

“You could train new ones.”

“I’m not good at grading papers.”

“You’re good at everything you do, James,” Q replied, leaning close, catching his lips. “If you set your mind to it,” he added between nips.

“Oh, am I?”

He wrapped his arms around the slender waist, holding the other ranger close.

“I can attest to that.”

Bond drowned the next words in a kiss.

The near-end of the world had cleansed him. It had burned away the past and it had left the future a blank slate.

 

* * *

 

He met Raleigh, like so often before, in the middle of the night in the mess hall.

It had been forty-eight hours since the closure of the Breach. Forty-eight hours since the world could breathe again. Forty-eight hours since their lives had stopped, their old lives, and everyone was tethering on the edge to something new. Or maybe something different.

A few night-birds, or early-birds, were still there, but they left the Jaeger pilots alone. For all the celebrations and the hero status they had acquired, the personnel of the Shatterdome understood the need for privacy; especially away from the parties.

Becket looked like he couldn’t sleep and he was currently playing with a tablet. He was dressed in a too large sweater, sweat pants, and running shoes, and his hair was standing up in every direction. He appeared pale, there were the shadows of bruises, and his eyes were roaming over whatever was on the tablet without really reading it.

Bond got himself a bottled water and slid into the seat across from Raleigh’s table.

“Making a habit of it, I see,” the Double-Oh remarked.

It got him a shrug. The dark circles under his eyes were tell-tale.

“Bad dreams?” Bond hazarded a guess.

He had his own. Q had his own. They had fought monsters, had nearly died, had stopped the Apocalypse, saved the world. Nightmares were to be expected.

“The same as before. Now with a twist.”

Ah yes, he knew that, too.

“We made it back. The Breach is closed. No more Kaijus.”

“At least for a while,” the other pilot conceded.

Bond shrugged. No one wanted to declare this a complete win, a peace to last, because all of them had seen the horror, the death, and Raleigh had actually been there.

He waited.

Finally, “I’m not sure what I saw,” Raleigh murmured. “It was all strange and not human and… weird. Like a million Kaiju just waiting to be born, in this wasteland, and a yellow planet, and clouds of blue and pink and colors I can’t even name.”

He drew a shuddering breath.

“I was looking at them and I can’t even say what they were. Alien. Just alien. They were looking back, but they couldn’t see me. Only Gipsy. And then it was gone and I thought I had dreamed it. I still do.”

Bond had been given the report by Herc. He hadn’t really been surprised that he was on the list of Need To Know. No idea how he had made it there, though. Raleigh had been the only one to ever set eyes on those who had sent the Kaiju and nothing on this planet could really come close to the Anteverse, at it had been dubbed.

“And then I was back in the water, our water, out planet, and Mako was there, yelling at me not to die. And I didn’t. And I could feel it all, like a million dreams crashing down on me.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. His eyes were closed, his body tense.

“I knew it was over and I thought… I thought we were the only ones left. That Striker had blown. And then I knew she had.”

“Chuck’s alive,” James said calmly.

“You saved him.”

“Stacker saved him. He was in the Drift and he made the choice. Aside from you, he was the only one capable of doing this on his own.”

Raleigh gave a broken laugh. “This is so messed up,” he groaned, slumping back.

Bond looked around. They were by now alone. Whoever had been there had apparently decided to give them some room.

“I’ve been asked a million questions about my time on the other side. This Anteverse. Another dimension. Fuck, it’s crazy to even think about it! And I keep thinking about those things. How much did they know about us? They don’t actually care, right? Newton said so. They conquer. They just come in and grab what planet they want, wipe out the natives. Make it theirs.”

James nodded slowly. “Seems like it.”

“So we blew them up. I’m kinda… happy, you know. It seems cold, but I was so damn pleased and happy when everything was over, when the Breach was torn to pieces, even though I knew it meant I had killed… maybe a whole world.”

“Kill or be killed. That’s war, Raleigh.”

“And we’ve lived with it for twenty years.”

Bond sipped at his water. Raleigh had already been able to understand it when he was a little boy, when the Breach opened. He had been five. James himself had been a teenager.

“I went to see him,” Raleigh suddenly said. “Chuck. Herc was there. He looked so relieved and happy.”

“You’re allowed to feel that, too.”

It got him a sharp look. Bond smirked.

“I might be old, but I’m not stupid,” he told Raleigh. “I think there’s a betting pool there somewhere.”

Raleigh groaned. “We’re not…” he tried, then broke off.

He looked tired, close to exhausted.

“Maybe not, but you want to be.”

The blood-shot eyes narrowed and the pale face looked a little thinner.

Bond’s smirk widened, then he grabbed his bottle and got up. “Get some sleep. The moment Chuck’s off the pain meds, he’ll be a handful again.”

Raleigh’s reply was a muttered curse. James chuckled and prowled through the corridors some more, checking up on the state of the Shatterdome, then he finally returned to his quarters.

Q was fast asleep in their bed, the tablet haphazardly balanced at the edge of the mattress, and he saved it from crashing. Bond’s expression grew fond as he slipped into bed with his partner and Q rolled closer, still asleep, with a soft huff.

Then he closed his eyes and let sleep take him, too.

 

* * *

 

Chuck Hansen was in a reasonably good condition after surgery and was healing. Q had pointed out how Raleigh seemed to hover around the other man more often than not. He was his most frequent visitor, staying for hours, watching TV with him, talking about things, or just silently reading a book as Chuck slept.

Chuck’s wariness had made way to slow acceptance, and when Herc told them that his son was actually looking forward to Raleigh’s visits, it was a done deal.

It wasn’t hard to see that what had been left of the rivalry had taken a new path. Equally intense, most likely a lot more pleasurable

If Chuck was cleared for pilot duties he would have to look into a new co-pilot. Maybe even Raleigh.

If Raleigh was willing to try.

Mako was a steadfast presence at his side, knew him through the Drifts they had shared, and maybe Chuck would upset that balance. Or not. Who knew what the future held?

But he upset Raleigh on a regular basis anyway and that seemed like a hobby Chuck pursued with a passion.

Testing boundaries.

He had yet to actually break the other pilot.

 

 

Currently Mako Mori was a very busy woman, running the mechanic and engineering side of the Shatterdome in a brisk and efficient matter.

It was a coping method.

Bond had called it a such and Q hadn’t disagreed.

She had lost her teacher, a man who had adopted her, had raised her, who she had looked up to. Pentecost had shaped her into the formidable woman she was today, the woman who had piloted Gipsy Danger with Raleigh and who had won with him.

It would take time to heal, to settle in and hurt and scar and finally end with acceptance.

So work it was.

And she had her work cut out for her.

From what Q had found out – which translated into: he had hacked a little – they were looking into pulling older Jaegers out of Oblivion Bay for restoration. It was a good plan since the construction of new models would take time.

The PPDC had agreed to open the other Shatterdomes again one by one.

Just in case.

The public stood fully behind that idea because everyone at the Pacific Rim had suffered from the attacks and everyone in the world had suffered with them. The whole planet’s resources had been put into its defense and no country, no city, had come away unscathed.

It would take a while, but things were happening.

And maybe one of those Jaegers was for Raleigh and whoever would be his co-pilot.

“Chuck an Raleigh. That Drift would truly be an experience,” Q remarked.

Bond smirked at him. “Better than ours?”

“Just as intense,” had been the very calm, very open answer. “With maybe some difficulty synchronizing the neural bridge. I’m saying ‘maybe’ because Chuck might have finally learned to stop being a dominant asshole and accept that being equals means being stronger. But as I said before, they are compatible in my opinion.”

James laughed. Oh, he just loved his partner’s very straight-forwarded analysis.

Mallory was still in charge of Vancouver and Q and Bond might be stationed there in the future again. Right now they would remain in Hong Kong, ready to react should something unforeseen happen. Sydney was next on the list to be reopened, then Tokyo.

Humanity had almost failed at protecting their planet once.

The Jaegers would make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long day again, filled with too many interviews, too many reports to write and debriefings to attend, too much time wasted that could have been spent more productively. He still felt the drain of his bruises, the way his body demanded rest, demanded that he take it easy.

The sun was low, the warm golden rays spilling into their apartment. Both men had moved from single quarters used by the pilots into what had been the home of the families of officers, scientists and civilians working in the Shatterdome. The larger places had been empty for a long time and Herc had gone about reassigning them.

Bond and Q had gotten such a place a week after their release from the infirmary.

James sat with his back against the window, shadows stretching out in front of him. He looked tired. Even without the Ghosts, Q knew what kind of condition the other man was in. He knew what he had to do.

Wordlessly taking the bottle from the exhausted man, Q coaxed his partner to lay down with him on the bed. His injured arm was out of the sling and Q could move it, though he had to be careful. The pain was moderate, the flexibility was good, and while he had to keep the bandages, it wasn’t a handicap.

Still no words were lost as the long, lean form slid against him. Q propped himself up with the pillows and Bond simply wrapped an arm around the other man’s waist, head resting against his stomach.

They didn’t need words. Looking into the intensely blue eyes, open and unguarded, reflecting all Q needed to know, was enough. He carded his fingers into the blond hair. Applying a soothing caress he stroked over the tense neck, then up the scalp again, down once more.

He could tell the moment Bond fell into sleep. Muscles relaxed a little more, his breathing evened out. The arm was heavy on Q’s middle, but he didn’t mind.

 

 

For a while he simply watched Bond sleep. It was such a rare opportunity to see the man completely without shields. The face was relaxed and a shadow of a beard growth showed. The sharp angles had softened, the dark blond lashes contrasting the rather pale complexion.

Tired. Bond had been absolutely tired. He needed this and he needed to sleep. Q didn’t care that they were both fully dressed. He was comfortable in these clothes and he had wisely already kicked off his shoes.

After a while he picked up his tablet and paged through it, finding the last chapter he had been reading. With the warm weight of Bond against his side he started to read again.

 

 

In the end Q slid down to lay on the mattress, on his side, James buried against him. The arm over his waist was still limp, the man deeply asleep. His hand rested gently on Bond’s back, feeling every breath.

No one disturbed them.

The sun sank behind the horizon, the long shadows flowing together and becoming night. Q had abandoned his reading and was gazing out the window, watching the stars come out. Bond snored softly against his chest.

Closing his eyes, Q let himself flow with the relaxed mind, smiling a little. He rested his chin lightly against the tousled hair.

He slipped off into a doze, letting their minds Drift together. It was what they were, what they had become.

Together, balanced, one. In need of the other but still very much independent and strong.

He would never give this up. Never willingly. He would fight to his last breath against whatever might take this man away from him. Or whoever.

Something echoed through him, an instinctual reaction from Bond’s side of the connection.

Q smiled more and finally succumbed to sleep.

tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone waiting for the Chuck and Raleigh moments: coming up soon. I need to get the guy out of the hospital first :) Then we'll work on the mouth of his and his talent for riling up potential friends and more-than-friends. 
> 
> The Slow-Build tag isn't there for nothing. Or the emotional hurt/comfort :)


	12. Chapter 12

Physical therapy proved to be bitching ground for Chuck and a proving ground for Raleigh. The younger of the two was still in pain, his muscles didn’t cooperate and he tired easily.

It was a small miracle Raleigh didn’t sock him every second sentence he spouted. It was even more of a miracle that he was always there, a quiet rock in the sea of verbal abuse.

Word of what was happening in the medical section of the Shatterdome spread quickly and no one was surprised. Some even learned a few new curses just walking past the therapy rooms. Others started bets on when Raleigh Becket would snap.

 

_“Why don’t you fuck off, Becket?!”_

_“Get your has-been hero ass out of here!”_

_“Come to see the freak show? Well, don’t expect too much!”_

_“Go fuck up someone else’s life!”_

_“Rub it in, will ya? Cripple to cripple!”_

__

Raleigh just watched him, shaking his head at the stubbornness, but he had probably expected no less. But he stayed. Silent, immovable support.

 

 

After a while the soul-deep anger faded from Chuck’s words. After a while the words were no more.

Something inside Raleigh had finally unraveled, had become that steady, strong presence, healing along with the others.

Maybe it had been the defeat of the Kaijus.

Maybe it had been the near-death experience of detonating Gipsy Danger in another dimension.

Maybe it had simply been time and friends and support. Mako had been that friend and that support.

Herc had no doubt about what was happening between Raleigh and Chuck. He told Bond as much. James had somehow slid into the position as Herc’s second, though he had never been officially appointed, nor did he really give orders. He had an open ear, let Herc run a few ideas by him, let him rant about bureaucrats, the PPDC, the United Nations, and he sat in on conference calls.

It was a role he wasn’t really equipped for, but he found it entertaining.

 

 

“You might be better at handling that,” he remarked when he ran into Mako around dinner time

She was at her regular table, a little at the back of the mess hall, signing off the required material for Skyfall Prime’s repairs, as well as what was needed to get the two Jaegers currently on their way to Hong Kong back into fighting condition.

Despite all their schedules, the endless stream of work piling up, their duties, lunch was one of the meals they usually had together. Herc would find his way here from whatever he was doing. Raleigh would drift by. Q would come in, sometimes dragging Newton or Dr. Gottlieb along. It was… nice.

Today, lunch had been Raleigh, Herc, Mako, Q and Bond, eating pasta – or what could be pasta or maybe a new form of seaweed covered in meat balls and sauce. Newton had come by late, wolfing down a sandwich, talking too fast around too much food, excited about something or other pertaining to K-science. Gottlieb had limped over with a cup of coffee and a look of disgust when he saw his colleague’s manners.

“I believe Herc has who he needs in the positions he requires them.” A fine smile accompanied the words.

“I believe he never read my file,” Bond grunted.

“A file means words on paper. Marshall Hansen believes in knowing the person, seeing their potential, how they fight, how they live.”

James regarded her silently.

Mako bowed her a head a little. “You are where you are required, James Bond. As is everyone. We need something to do in these times, between war and true peace. So we work where we are best.”

And then she was gone, heading to where Skyfall was surrounded by work crews and machines.

Damn, that woman was sharp. And he liked her.

Right now there was little to do for Jaeger pilots, so every distraction chased away the boredom.

What Bond was doing now had been Herc’s role to Pentecost before the Marshall had died.

Hansen was a good Marshall. He was a born fighter, a career soldier, he knew everything there was to know about the red tape, the inner workings of the PPDC, and about the rangers who piloted the Jaegers.

The perfect mix of experience and connections.

 

 

So Bond found himself accompanying Herc to some of Chuck’s sessions. He was very impressed by Raleigh’s patience, the quiet strength and support, and after a while the bitching grew less. The temper flares evened out. The competitive edge, present even throughout physical therapy, had disappeared.

Chuck seemed to expect Raleigh to be there, drew strength from his presence, and the therapist looked almost relieved.

Progress was being made in leaps.

Sometimes, when his shields dropped, there was this raw need, plain and open in every line of his face, and James knew the feeling. He had been there, in this place, with such pain and need and the anger clouding his mind. And he had felt raw and open and turning to one man for help, even though he hated the very idea of it.

Yes, Chuck was getting there.

 

 

“Took him long enough,” Herc remarked over a beer. He sounded almost fond.

It was late.

The bar was well-stocked and private, and he really didn’t know – or wanted to know – where most of that liquor had come from. Or had found its way here.

Bond smiled a little, spearing the olive of his Martini, shaken not stirred. It was a rare luxury, one he hardly ever indulged.

“Some need a little push. Your son needed one heck of a shove.”

“He isn’t there yet, but the abrasive little shit has finally met his match. And accepted that he can’t surpass Raleigh, no matter what he does. Becket’s a natural at Drifting and Chuck finally let that sink in.”

“You and him, you were the bloody best team out there.”

Herc laughed. “As long as we Drifted, yeah. I know there were marks on our files, that people were just waiting for the big fuck-up. Well, bigger than running your mouth off in Chuck’s case. They kept an eye on us because parent-child team-ups are just ready to blow up in a Marshall’s face.”

“You made it.”

“Not for the lack of trying on Chuck’s part.” Herc’s expression softened a little. “Don’t ever tell the little shithead that, but I know he’s the damn best pilot out there. He was too young for the bag of crazy that was thrown at us. And if there had been anyone else, anyone at all, I wouldn’t have attempted a Drift with my own son. But I did. And it worked. It was the most amazing thing.”

“Until after.”

It got him a rough kind of smile, full of old pain. “Until after. You can’t undo what you see in a Drift. Neither of us could. Him and Raleigh, I know they could make it.”

“This is more than hero worship.”

Herc snorted, almost coughing up beer. “Oh hell yeah, it is! If he could, he’d let that yank fuck him into next Monday.”

Bond broke out laughing. Herc just grinned that shit-eating grin.

“They’ll get there soon enough.”

“Hopefully before Raleigh’s patience finally cracks.”

“It hasn’t so far and it won’t. Mako is a good influence.”

“The best.” He raised his beer in a salute to the young woman’s spirit and presence.

His relationship with Chuck was changing little by little. The near-death experience had shaken something lose that was rattling around Chuck, had him view life in a different way. James had seen aborted little moves here or there, the first steps of emotional and maybe even physical closeness between the two men.

Herc had been in the infirmary’s intensive care every single minute until Chuck was out of the worst of it, holding his son’s hand, and maybe even praying.

And since one of the shouting matches between Raleigh and Chuck throughout rehab had been just that topic, Chuck knew. He knew what his old man had gone through, what he had done, where he had been every single minute, and there had been that switch that had finally clicked.

It had to be seen just how far he was willing to let the change happen.

It would do both of them a world of good to accept the past and finally move on.

“You and Q still Ghosting?”

The question caught him from the left, completely unaware, and Bond blinked. He felt shields drop almost defensively.

Herc’s face was neutral, his eyes intense.

James studied him, tried to find any kind of clue, then he finally released a slow breath. “Yes.”

“Y’know it’s unusual,” the Australian told him.

“I’ve been told.”

“Did you ever have that with anyone else?”

Like Vesper? The woman he had been ready to marry? The one he had loved and who had given her life for him?

“No.”

“So it’s not you. It’s the two of you.”

“Probably.”

“Few have that. Some do and for most it fades.”

James was silent. He didn’t want it to fade. He didn’t want to miss the gentle touch to his mind, the presence of Q so close. They weren’t telepathic. They didn’t share thought in real-time. Intense emotions fluctuated between them sometimes, but otherwise it was just… awareness.

“Huh,” Herc muttered and took a large gulp. “So you know where he is right now?”

“Yes.”

“Ever tested the range?”

“No. We don’t intend to test anything,” Bond said, voice sharper now.

Herc leaned back with a grin. “Touchy, Double-Oh. They’re gonna study Drifting for other applications now. It’s no longer just for the sole purpose of piloting a Jaeger if some people have it their way. Not sure what they wanna use it for, but who am I to judge?” he shrugged. “You two are the only living Jaeger pilots who have this intense connection. The Kaidanovskys are dead. Raleigh lost his brother a while ago and he has the brain damage to show.”

“He and Yancy?”

“Rumors have it they had long Ghost-Drifts. Raleigh never mentioned it. I think he got that ripped out of him with his brother. The only ever psych eval he had mentioned that part of Yancy might have been left behind, that he has his brother’s memories and lost some of his own.” Herc looked serious all of a sudden. “Can’t imagine what that does to a man.”

Oh, they had seen it. It had nearly destroyed an excellent pilot. Pentecost had dragged him back out of the abyss, like M had kicked Bond back to life. It had been a close call for both pilots.

“No one knows what Drifting really does to a human brain. I won’t go into what Newton did either. That man is craziness on a stick.”

“No argument from me.”

“You and Q have been in a handful of Drifts and look what happened. Who knows what will develop when you do it again.”

“We will do it again.”

Herc chuckled. “I know that, Bond. Just sayin’. Keep an eye on matters. You know I will. You’re under my command right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can it. I just don’t need you and Q brain-damaging yourselves.”

“Won’t happen.”

Because it felt right. It felt good and… right. It felt like his brain had been waiting for a counter-balance, someone who would stabilize what had been left of Bond after Vesper’s death, who would bring him back and keep him living.

“Good,” was all the Marshall said. “See that you don’t.”

James almost saluted, but the warning look was enough to keep him from doing it.

 

* * *

 

He found Q in the K-science labs, talking to Gottlieb, who was nodding, eyes sharp, attention on every word Q said. His lips were pursed in thought and the pale face reflected his concentration. When he caught sight of Bond, a frown crossed his features.

“Can I help you?” he asked, voice maybe a little more unkind than he wanted.

“Leave James in peace, Hermann,” Newt called. The dark, tousled head surfaced from behind a tank filled with Kaiju parts.

The lab was sectioned into two areas. One was clearly Newt’s. It was messy, probably organized so only he understood where what was, and filled with biological parts in glasses and tanks. Hermann’s was neat, everything stacked, labeled and orderly. The large board was filled with mathematical formulas.

Two sides of the same brain, Bond thought, with no idea where that had come from. Creativity and logic. He almost laughed at that rather fitting analogy – especially now that the two men had been in a Drift together.

“Why don’t you leave me in peace?” Gottlieb snapped. “And keep your tentacles and entrails to yourself!”

“You love my tentacles and entrails.”

“It’s a disgusting collection of biohazard material in a place ill-equipped to handle an outbreak!” Gottlieb replied angrily. “The last time…”

“It was only _one_ time, Herm. _One time!_ You make it sound like I spray toxins all over your antiquated blackboards on a regular basis!”

“There shouldn’t be any toxins even close to my blackboards!”

Q rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips as he walked over to Bond. “What brings you down here?”

“Looking for some peace and quiet?” he joked.

“Wrong place,” Newt announced, grinning widely. He was cleaning slime off his arm and didn’t look even remotely disgusted.

Gottlieb did, though. He grimaced and pointedly turned to his computer.

“Don’t mind him. I never do. No manners, that man.”

That got Newton a glare, but it was also not too difficult to see that there wasn’t really much fire behind it. The words of before, while unkind, hadn’t had a really angry tone to them. It had sounded more like a repertoire, a well-known routine. The two men had shared a Drift with a Kaiju, had saved the world as much as the Jaeger pilots had, and something had stuck. Only someone who had Drift experience would notice it, though.

Bond was such a man.

From the little eddies he caught coming from Q, so did his partner.

And from Herc he knew that the two lead K-scientists hadn’t fought the concept of two larger quarters, next to each other and no longer across, connected by a door. It had been created for families or pilots with children or a spouse, which had been a rare occurrence anyway. Now both scientists had a two-room place, connected to that of their colleague, with a tiny, functional, shared kitchen.

There had been no demands to reverse the living arrangements.

“Herm, play nice,” Newton called.

“My name is not Herm! You were in my head, you should finally know!”

“Yep, I was in your head. Scary place.” The last two words he stage-whispered to James.

Yes, something had stuck.

“Do you two still Ghost-Drift?” Bond asked, sounding casual.

Geiszler blinked, stunned into speechlessness. Gottlieb slowly turned on his seat, face a bit paler than before.

“W-what?”

“You do,” Q said knowingly.

Newton glanced around, but there was no one else present and the door to the lab was closed.

“We don’t actually Ghost-Drift,” he finally said. “It’s more of a residual echo.”

Gottlieb grimaced, but he didn’t correct his colleague. That echo was the definition of a Ghost-Drift.

“You can catch faint echoes, feel the other’s presence, are aware where he is,” Q listed.

Newton’s eyes sharpened. “Yes.”

“It never stops.”

“I…uh… kinda… no?”

“What about the Kaiju?”

It got him a grimace. “We’re not having Kaiju moments, if that’s what you are getting at.”

“Good god, no,” Hermann muttered, sounding disgusted. He had by now abandoned his work, fingers wrapped tightly around his cane.

Bond waited. Q was a patient presence at his side.

“But the memories are still there. Like we were part of them. And we were. It was scary. Freakingly scary good.” Newton laughed, sounding a little forced. “But it helps that we shared the load. Even if Hermann keeps bitching about it.”

“I do not bitch!”

“See?” Newton chuckled. “Bitching. I thought it would fade, like the Ghosts. It isn’t and whatever I tried, it’s not giving me anything. No readings, nothing. We got these memories between us, from another dimension, from another race, and they are ours now.”

James doubted the two men would ever succeed at a compatibility test, but what they had done had had nothing to do with piloting a Jaeger. It had been an unsanctioned experiment that could have killed them both. Or left them seriously brain-damaged.

What had remained was different from what pilots experienced. What had remained had been forced through an alien brain, had pushed them closer, had shown them each other, and it kept them together. Watching them now, he could almost see it, like invisible lines tethering one mind to the other, giving one an outlet from the introvert lifestyle, and the other a stability he had lacked before because of that introvert.

“We still Ghost, too,” Q told them.

Newton blinked and even Gottlieb looked intrigued.

“When was the last time you Drifted?” Hermann asked sharply as he got up and limped over.

“The day we blew up the Breach.”

Both K-scientists exchanged looks.

“Hot damn!” Newton breathed. “That was…! You still Ghost after months? Months, Hermann! Months!”

“I can hear him just fine, Newton,” Gottlieb chastised.

“And you still…” Newton made a vague gesture, ignoring the comment. “Completely?”

“It was never less,” Bond agreed.

“Telepathy?”

“No. Awareness.”

“That is… cool,” Newton breathed. “And… freaky, but cool. I know Aleksis and Sasha had episodes like that, especially after that eighteen-hour neural handshake. Man, that made it into the history books! It took them a month to feel less connected. I asked them for readings, but they said no. Sadly. But I got my hands on what the Russian Shatterdome archives had. Compared it to that thing between Herm and me.”

“Dr. Gottlieb,” came the growl.

“Be nice, Herm. Anyway. Not like us. I got our brain readings and it’s probably all screwed because of the Kaiju between us. Would you be willing to let me scan you?”

Q shrugged. Bond felt his acceptance, knew that his partner would want to know as much as he could about what this continued Ghost-Drift was, and he nodded.

“Don’t damage them, Newton,” Hermann told him sternly.

“Oh shut up! I know what I’m doing.”

“That would be the first time.”

“Are you going to bring that up every damn time?”

“Yes.”

Newton huffed, but there was a fondness there, a closeness. Gottlieb walked back to his seat and settled down, but the lines in his face were not harsh or angry. The expression in his eyes reflected what Newton felt.

_Old married couple_ , James thought.

And from Q’s expression it had somehow made it across.

 

tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Well. I'm ashamed to say that the very last scene triggered a second, rather massive writing event that now has me writing three stories at the same time. I'm going off to explore the Newton and Hermann angle, set in the Momentum 'verse. Okay, scratch that, I already did.   
> *hangs head in total defeat*  
> What has this movie done to me?!


	13. Chapter 13

Herc approved of the scans and examinations, though he hadn’t been happy that it would be Newton Geiszler doing them. The man might hold six doctorates at an age where most people still struggled with the completion of their first, but he was also a very unconventional scientist.

Which, Q argued, was what they needed.

And Hermann would be there to supervise.

“You think he can do damage control?” the Marshall asked.

“I think if anyone can, it’s him.”

It got Q a look. Narrowed eyes, a faint glint, and then a slow smirk.

“Maybe that’s right,” Hansen said slowly.

 

 

So Newton was there when they Drifted for the first time since the closure of the Breach, even though Skyfall Prime wouldn’t be deployed.

The Drift was amazing, stunning, beautiful, like the first time, the last time, any time. It was breath-taking in its intensity, and the neural handshake established fully, without a dip, a stumble, a surge.

They looked at each other, thoughts flowing freely, and James knew he wouldn’t let this go.

 _No, never_ , echoed between them.

 

 

There was a look of almost-envy on Newton’s face afterwards. The man looked like he wanted that experience again, even if it wouldn’t be like that he had been through. Nothing would ever be like that.

And maybe, just maybe, it was their imagination that Hermann looked just as envious, stood just a little too close, placed a careful hand on Newton’s shoulder and squeezed.

Then again, maybe not.

 

*

 

Newton was in their faces whenever he met them, asking a million questions. He was a bottomless well of questions, of need-to-know, of actual need.

That it helped handle his own echoes, the once floating between Newt and Hermann, was another matter.

It was where Q helped, where he mediated, and where he had his hands up to his armpits in data. Because no one had ever drifted with a Kaiju before, twice in Newton’s case. No one had ever been part of a hive mind, had been inside an alien brain.

“Would you do it again?” Q asked once late night as they were going over the data.

Newton looked almost thoughtful. His tie was askew, the white shirt rumpled, his hair more tousled than before. He had pushed the sleeves up, revealing the colorful tattoos of the Kaijus slain by Jaegers.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Not alone.” His tone of voice was almost uncharacteristically soft, thoughtful. “It almost killed me the first time. Like the first Jaeger pilots trying to fly them solo. Hermann… his mind was what I needed and look what it did to him. Us. It connected us.”

Q nodded. “But you are still your own.”

“Like you and James?”

“Yes.”

“You want him close.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Yes. Very much.”

“Even now? After months?”

“Yes.” Q smiled slightly. “We’re still our own people, Newt. We’re individuals. We don’t share every thought or breath.”

“Neither do Hermann and I. And when he was in the Drift, this crazy three-way,” he grimaced at that, “don’t tell him that I called it that, he was what got me through.”

“Counter-balance.”

Newton rubbed his eyes. “Maybe. I just know… after all this… we always could work with each other, y’know. It wasn’t half as bad as someone might think. Pentecost wouldn’t have tolerated it if it hadn’t been good. I could have had another lab, but I liked riling him up. And I think he liked me making him mad. I was in his head, he was in mine, and together we were in the Kaiju hive. I changes you.”

Q nodded. He hadn’t been there, but he knew how the Drift had changed him, how Drifting with James had become everything. Nothing would get him away from his partner. No job in the world, no amount of money. If they had to leave together, so be it. If Bond would become Marshall somewhere, so be it.

So be it…

“We were all that was left of the research division and now we’re… I don’t know. Maybe the only experts? Real experts? Because we were there? And I can’t think about ever not having him there, Q. It’s frightening.”

It was a huge confession. One Q understood.

“Does he have family?”

“Had,” Newton answered quietly. “She died. Same with mine. Most of mine anyway. No wife or girlfriend. Or boyfriend,” he added with a breathy laugh. “No time. Too many Kaijus. Now it’s too much research. We have so much… it’ll keep generations busy. So, no. No family.”

And maybe it was where both men would be happy. Together, doing science, making amazing breakthroughs. Q watched Newton play with one of the scanner probes.

Like him and James would be happy wherever they were, as long as it was together. The only difference was the depth of their physical relationship. The expression of their emotions through intimate touches.

Newton gave him a tiny smile, as if he understood Q’s thoughts.

“Right now I can’t imagine working with anyone else,” he confessed, voice wavering a little. “Living with anyone else. I mean, it’s not like you and Bond,” he quickly added.

Q almost laughed.

“It’s just… the dreams. We seem to dream… together. And we know it. And sometimes…” He blew out a breath. “Do you know why there is a door between our places? It’s not what the gossip girls say. But yes, we share a bed sometimes. Often. Well, more than sometimes and often. When we dream, it feels cold and lonely, and then there’s suddenly someone and it’s good and right and… we wake up with each other. It’s safe. We dream and we sleep. And if we wake up alone we have nightmares.”

He scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair.

“It sounds awful, right?”

“No,” Q said softly, voice very quiet. “It sounds good.”

Newt looked almost relieved. “I know he’s… not proud of it. I mean, he’s a brilliant guy and all. He’s… he doesn’t need anyone.”

“You were in his brain.”

A soft exhalation. “Yes. And he had the same crappy childhood all geniuses have. And he doesn’t like to be alone. And he’s... stuck with me now.” Newton stopped, laughing softly. “His greatest curse, huh?”

Then his whole mood shifted back into that sometimes rather manic Kaiju Nerd expression.

“Well!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Let’s on with this!”

Q accepted the change of topic, smiling a little to himself as the presence he sometimes thought had to be James increased a little, as if his partner had turned his attention to Q.

Yes, this helped Newton, too. In a different way. Hermann might not always seem to be listening what they were doing, but Q was convinced he heard every word, paid close attention.

Because he cared.

Because Newton cared about his colleague.

And what they had seen, had shared, had been through, it had connected them in a way no one would or could have foreseen. They might never be completely separate, just like James and Q, but at least the first sliver of acceptance was there. They had made compromises on their living arrangements, on their work, within their lives.

Acceptance was the most important aspect needed in this.

Everything else would develop from there.

 

* * *

 

Q lay underneath him, naked, looking sated and calm. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips displaying a warm smile.

“Got it out of your system?” James asked with a lazy expression. He leaned down and kissed him. “You are insatiable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I’m just feeding a need.”

Q laughed. “Right. So selfless. You do know that I was in your head. Still there sometimes.”

James nuzzled his neck. “Never slipped my mind.”

Q sighed softly, burying one hand in the tousled head.

“And you don’t mind.”

“No.”

“If we Drift again for real, in a Jaeger…”

“When, Kian. When.” There wasn’t a single flicker of doubt in his mind.

The brief moment for the sake of science, to test a few theories, hadn’t been like a true Drift. The neural handshake had been there, but there hadn’t been the connection to the Jaeger. They had missed the sensation of being close to three hundred feet tall, made of steel, armor-plated and badass.

Q wasn’t cleared for a full interface with the Conn-Pod due to his arm either. The scars were too fresh, too sensitive, and Dr. Weng had been adamant.

“This could become more.”

“Maybe.”

He met the dark, unshielded eyes, read everything in there. Q wasn’t afraid, simply careful.

“I want this. You. Us. You know it. I don’t fucking care about anything else. We will Drift again. And we’ll always be this close.”

“Yes, we will,” was the soft answer.

 

 

That evening, within the privacy of their bedroom, Bond brushed back a strand of hair, smiling as the lock bounced rebelliously back. Q gave a sleepy mumble, but James kept up the gentle caress. He loved the feel of that wavy hair. He loved the feel of the slender form next to him. He loved feeling.

Q sighed, then curled closer. The hair fell back over his forehead and James smiled more.

Happily.

At home.

He wanted this. He wanted everything. He wouldn’t give anything back and would fight to keep what he had already.

 

* * *

 

The quickly growing relationship between Raleigh and Chuck – from enemies to wary colleagues to friends and now… speculations were ongoing -- came as no surprise. No one gave them a second look when they showed up in the hangar bay, close together without really touching. Drift partners were known to be close, some never actually straying far from the other. Like the Kaidanovskys. Like the Triplets. Like the Hansens. Yes, even Herc and Chuck had found themselves being physically closer, even if Chuck had never confessed to it.

Now he and Raleigh... They had never Drifted.

They hadn’t even been in the Kwoon together.

But the closeness was there and no one looked twice.

The only gossip was how far the two men had taken this, if it was a relationship, a friendship or something else. No one wanted to bring up a definition of what was between them.

 

 

There had been moments in the infirmary, when Q had been there to get his arm checked out. He had seen them, soft touches, the expression in Raleigh’s eyes so intense, Chuck had sometimes looked almost shocked. Raleigh had always been there, for every examination, Q’s doctor had told him with an approving smile. It helped the other pilot heal, it helped egg him on to follow the therapist’s instructions, to go to every session.

 

 

There had been moments in therapy, too. Q had needed some to keep his fingers mobile, and to keep him from overdoing it when he was busy typing where some muscles would lock up involuntarily.

Gentle touches, fleeting contact, a look, sometimes stern, sometimes encouraging.

And sometimes Herc would be there, a silent support, a father who wasn’t taking the crap anymore now that the war was over. A father who wanted his son happy, who fought back, who approved of the relationship, who wanted his son in his life as family, not the eternal shouting-match partner.

Things were progressing for all three men involved.

Slowly.

Steadily.

 

 

Bond kept up his morning runs and usually Raleigh joined him. It was a regular thing now, meeting up, running, sometimes talking. Not much was said, but that wasn’t necessary.

“You still haven’t killed him.”

Raleigh laughed, keeping pace. “No. Not for the lack of wanting. He drives me insane.”

“Probably. But it was your choice.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“Can’t always make sense of choices.”

“Like you and Q?”

Bond grinned a little, his moves still easy and smooth. “Probably. M called it desperate times, gave me free choice of a co-pilot. We wouldn’t have Drifted otherwise.”

“But you would have met.”

Yes, they would have. One remaining in the Shatterdome, the other fighting Kaijus.

 

 

One morning Chuck was there was well. He still looked too pale, too thin, but he no longer seemed to be close to a collapse. Dressed in gray sweats, face set in a determined mask, he dared Bond to say something.

James wisely didn’t.

He never did unless the younger man was running himself into the ground. With Becket there, he doubted he would have to worry about that.

“Slow,” Raleigh told him when Chuck wanted to push.

It was a round of easy running. Not fast, no competition, and he was watching Chuck closely.

“You undo more with overdoing it than helping the healing along.”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the breathless hiss.

The feral expression was almost comical. There was still the fight, always the fight, despite the closeness of the two men. Chuck never went down without that fight and he never just gave in. It was something deep inside his soul, that refusal to surrender, even if he already had before. Even if Raleigh would never call it submission.

And Chuck doggedly continued. Bond quietly shadowed the two men, sharp eyes on Hansen’s movements, which were a little less ragged than two months ago, but he wasn’t even close to back yet.

Sweat streaming down his face, the other man finally stopped, hands on the metal railing. He was out of breath and his expression was close to angry again. He was out of shape and it wasn’t something Chuck Hansen was used to.

He fought.

He fought so damn hard not to be seen as weak.

Raleigh waited. He knew anger and frustration. He knew what it meant to be grounded, to be less than before. He knew what rehab meant, what the pain was like, emotional and physical, and he knew what it meant to have support.

He hadn’t had any.

He had pushed everyone away.

Finally Chuck pushed away. He was still sweating, but his breathing was under control. The stubborn line between his eyes stayed.

Raleigh grinned. “You’ll get back on that horse. And inside that Jaeger.”

It got him a snort.

“And you’ll do it in one piece. No need to aggravate Dr. Weng any more than necessary.”

“You don’t know that!” Chuck hissed.

From the looks of it, it was an old argument.

“If my leg can’t handle the Conn-Pod interface, I’m off the list! Just some crippled has-been!”

Raleigh rolled his eyes. Yes, it was an old argument. Ignoring their company, he stepped forward and leaned down into a soft kiss, brushing their lips together.

Bond smirked at the immediate reaction Chuck showed, how his hands clenched into the dark sweater, pulled Raleigh closer, and he shook his head.

Fire and oil. Lit match and a can of gasoline.

Yeah, those two were an explosive combination.

“Keep it above the waist, boys,” he called, startling them apart. His laughed and gave them a wave, continuing his own rounds.

When he glanced back, he saw that while, yes, they kept it almost above the waist, there was no holding back. Up here, on the track, no one would really stumble upon them at this time of the day.  
And since Raleigh was the more sensible of the two, they would hopefully get a room before things truly became more interesting.

 

tbc...


	14. Chapter 14

It had been six months since the closure of the Breach.

Six months since Chuck Hansen had made it back alive, against all odds.

Six months since the world had started to breathe again, since the rebuilding had begun.

Six months since Raleigh Becket had allowed himself to pursue an emotional connection to another human being, one outside friendship, one that had gone past the impenetrable shields around his soul.

Bond had smirked when he had noticed the softer expressions in Chuck’s eyes throughout the weeks of rehab, therapy and rebuilding what had been lost. He had tried not to laugh at the way Chuck’s lips curled into a tiny smile as he watched Raleigh.

The Kwoon Room sessions came when the therapist gave a green light. Slow, steady, had been the advice. Well, an order, really.

As Herc’s second, James had gotten the file and the training schedule set up by the therapist. Chuck would adhere to it as religiously as he would to the whole rehab so far.

Raleigh would make sure of it.

 

*

 

“Any changes?” Q asked, stealing a crisp from Newton’s bag.

The K-scientist retaliated by spearing a tomato off his salad. “Depends. I’m not thinking I’m a three thousand ton monster from another dimension. Not sure about Hermann, though.” He grinned. “But seriously, we get along. It’s… settling.”

Q raised an eyebrow. A faint blush appeared on Newton’s face and he chewed on a piece of burger.

“The dreams are still… uh… shared. And we kinda… hang out a lot.”

The former quartermaster waited.

“It’s not bad. I’m not saying that. It’s just… I know it annoys him.”

“Because you were in his head.”

“He likes his privacy, okay? He likes to work and think and turn that big brain to his numbers. He loves numbers.”

“But he doesn’t push you away.”

“No.” He took another big bite.

“And he agreed to the living arrangements. Still does.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it bother you?”

Newton’s head came up and his mouth opened, then closed with a snap. “No! No, I don’t mind. I mean, we live in each other’s lab space. Have done so for a while. And we managed. We haven’t killed each other in months.”

“Which is good.”

Newt snorted. “Yeah. I guess. I keep thinking what if, though.”

Q was silent.

“What if he wants a new assignment? What he get reassigned? What if they want him teaching somewhere? I bet they would hate his guts. He’s a bore. Dry to the bone and dusty. Really, really dusty. Or he goes into research somewhere else. He’d be really good at that. Assistants to pester and drive insane, Nobel papers to write.”

“What if this chance would be offered to you, Newt?” Q asked pointedly.

“Huh, what?”

“You are the foremost expert on Kaiju biology, aside from maybe some black market dealers.”

“Nah, I’m not their kind of favorite guy for that. Too high maintenance.” He grinned, but it was a rather insecure one.

Q knew the man was a genius, though he was rather unconventional. He held six doctorates, he knew everything there was about Kaijus, and he was an expert on Drift technology.

“I think Herc will want to keep you here as long as you guys don’t want to leave.”

“Huh.”

“And maybe, just as a suggestion, you might want to talk this through with Dr. Gottlieb. He is part of your brain, as you already said. Drifting is a two-way bridge and he knows you as well as you do him. You simply might need to talk about a few aspects.”

“Like you and Bond?”

Q nodded. “We still talk. A lot.”

“Getting into each other’s pants helps, too,” Newton laughed.

Q wisely didn’t comment on that. He grabbed some crisps again and just smiled.

 

* * *

 

It took five weeks for Chuck to be in any kind of shape and condition to actually attempt more than a few easy moves. Frustration was high, the anger rising, and Bond watched it all with sharp eyes and an even sharper remark here or there when Hansen got out of line.

Mako would join them sometimes, sharp eyes taking in the training.

“He is pushing,” she said softly as Chuck attacked, did just that, push until Raleigh stopped him. “He is fighting against Raleigh instead of fighting with him. The thought of competition is still there, the need to prove himself.”

Then the twist of frustration was on his lips.

“It is,” Bond agreed.

It was an up and down, every week, every day. Chuck was trying, but he fell back in his usual defense: his big mouth, taunting, hitting Raleigh where it hurt him, and more mouthing off.

“He still has a long way to go, to accept that in this fight they are equals, that he cannot beat Raleigh. He has to be in synch with him to achieve what he wants.”

James gave her a small smile. “You think he wants it?”

Mako raised her brows, face carefully neutral at the double-entendre.

Bond grinned.

In the Kwoon, Raleigh stepped away and Chuck faltered, looking too flushed, too out of breath, to be called back in shape just yet. A new wave of fury hit him and the curse was tell-tale.

“That’s it for today,” Raleigh announced.

“Fuck, no!” was the hissed reply.

“You’re not going to ruin Frank’s work because you’re too stubborn to know when to stop,” Becket replied evenly.

“Fuck you, Becket! I’m not a cripple! I can go another round!”

Chuck clearly had to lock his knees not to stumble. He took one step – and promptly fumbled for support.

“Idiot!” Raleigh whispered as he caught him.

For just a moment, Chuck was clutching at his arms to keep himself from collapsing in a graceless heap. He was fast approaching a complete shut-down.

Then he pushed back, face flushed more, embarrassed and angry.

“I’m fine, _Rah_ -leigh!” he snapped. “Get off me!”

“Cut the act, Chuck! You’re not fine!”

“Since when are you my doctor?!”

“I’m not!” Raleigh snapped. “I thought I was your friend. I thought we were…” He stopped.

Their eyes met, Chuck’s reflecting all he felt, everything wide open. There was shock there. There was hope that he quickly squashed, something softer that he didn’t want anyone to see, and pain.

“Maybe you thought wrong!”

At Bond’s side, Mako tensed, a soft word in her mother language leaving her lips.

Raleigh’s face closed up, eyes only showing hurt. He appeared drawn between biting back once again and just stepping back.

In the end he stepped back.

Chuck glared at him, daring him to say something. When he didn’t, Hansen stomped away, though the exit was diminished by the slight limp and the way he unconsciously held a protective arm in front of his ribs.

James shook his head and met the turmoiled eyes of Becket. Raleigh was visibly trying to fight back a more violent reaction.

Finally he blew out a breath, shoulders sagging.

“Not sure what’s going to happen first: I’ll kill that asshole or he kills himself.”

“He is in pain,” Mako only said. “He knows he was better once. It needs to settle in. His body is limited in so many ways now, his brain needs to work through that.”

And he wanted to be the best again. He wanted to show everyone that he wasn’t a cripple. Bond understood, but he also knew this wasn’t the way to go about it.

Oh well, Herc and Raleigh had their work laid out for them.

“Go after him,” Mako advised.

“Not a good idea,” her Drift partner argued. “He’s angry.”

“Not at you. He will want you there.”

“I think he just said he didn’t.”

“Did this ever stop you?”

Raleigh tilted his head, eyes going from the silently watching Bond to Mako. “You got a degree in psychology now, Miss Mori?”

She smiled. “I might just know you, Mr. Becket.”

He laughed, a few lines easing. “Yes, you do.”

Bond accompanied Mako as she left the Kwoon. “This will take time,” he murmured.

“A lot,” she agreed.

 

*

 

There was no explosion.

The Shatterdome was still standing even three hours later.

By the next morning, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. There had been no reports on shouting matches or brawls. The Kwoon had been silent, as had been the general gym and rehab.

Bond raised an eyebrow at Herc as he sat down across from him for breakfast. It was just past sunrise. Herc was on his, probably third, cup of coffee, digging into a mountain of food James really didn’t want to identify. His own consisted mostly of coffee and toast.

“Silent night,” the Double-Oh said causally.

Herc simply gave him a long-suffering sigh. “I know that boy. He blows up in your face, then settles down again.”

“With no apology?”

Another sigh. “You know we never had the best relationship. Raleigh’s different.”

“You two Drifted. Nothing closer than that.”

“Sometimes too close.”

Especially between parents and children.

“Maybe they should get into a Drift before they beat each other’s head in, but I doubt Raleigh needs it to get a handle on my boy.”

Herc laughed. “One can only hope.”

Mako was next to find them at their usual table. Her breakfast plate contained only healthy items. Hong Kong was still the place where everything seemed available.

“Seen your partner yet?” Herc asked.

“I have. Briefly.”

He shot her a quizzical look and a fine smile appeared on her smooth features. “He and your son seem to have… made up.”

Herc guffawed, shaking his head. “Knew it.”

Bond exchanged a knowing look with Mako.

She had been right.

Six months, he mused. Six months of an open and stormy relationship, marked by banter, fighting, yelling, feeling… feeling a lot, in Chuck’s case. Heart on his sleeve. Raleigh was more private, but there was no doubt he was invested in this, in Chuck.

But somehow they had worked it out together. Somehow they had turned the fighting into cooperation. Somehow they had turned from reluctant enemies to tentative, almost careful friends and finally to… this.

This’ was a connection between two head-strong men who were making compromises each and every day, but whose emotions about the matter of their relationship were very strong.  
They fit, despite all their differences.

 

tbc...


	15. Chapter 15

It was seven months after the closure of the Breach when they finally went into a serious tryout.

Mako’s eyes had reflected pride and love, a kind of inner peace and understanding that showed she saw and knew so much more than most would.

“They are completing each other’s moves,” had been her only comment without sadness or jealousy.

Bond had just nodded.

For the first time Chuck matched Raleigh every time, reacted and acted to his partner’s moves, and Raleigh did the same. It looked smooth, elegant, and right.

The broken leg had mended, though Chuck still couldn’t go through with a full Kwoon training session just yet. At least not the drill the Academy had put him through as a junior.

The screws and plates might never be removed, but he was moving a lot better, the muscles were getting stronger by the week, and he barely even limped after training anymore.

Raleigh always stopped when it became clear that the other man was in pain. Sometimes Chuck would pitch a fit, snarl and hiss and growl. He would vent, then things were back on an even keel. He needed that.

The anger slid off the older pilot. It seemed Raleigh Becket had truly found his calm center, had become as balanced in his life as he had been in the fights.

He had Mako to thank for it. She actually looked kind of proud, knowing it had been her influence.

It was what Chuck needed, this kind of serene balance, the acceptance, the patience. And something deeper. The emotions between the two men were still developing, the connection forming without the Drift.

Herc had been there on and off, and if he couldn’t come, he had James be there. Herc only too happy for his son. Their relationship was still rocky, but it was mending. At last.

At the end of the session, Chuck looked exhausted. His face was sweat-streaked and he was trembling, but the gleam of triumph in his eyes chased away the shadows of the strain he had been under. And the wide smile of happiness was hard to miss, too.

As was the one on Raleigh’s face.

A matching smile.

 

 

A new Mark-VI Jaeger was under construction for Hong Kong and their combat training was becoming more and more intense. Epic North was ready for them, and they would soon be ready for the first full Drift experience.

“She’s sexy,” Chuck had remarked when he had seen the new Jaeger under construction. “Like Striker.”

“And Gipsy.”

“As if that bucket of bolts was anything other than a wreck on legs!”

“At least she wasn’t some pretentious, gleaming show-pony.”

“Show-pony?! Striker wasn’t a show-pony! She was a Mark-V, the best and brightest, piloted by the best and brightest!”

“I’ll give you that, Herc has a solid head on his shoulders…”

“Fuck off, Raleigh!”

Raleigh’s applied method or silencing the outrage and keeping the argument from getting out of hand was kissing Chuck. It was almost a force of nature to behold.

Herc simply rolled his eyes. “The novelty will wear off after a while.”

 

 

Or at least everyone thought they were ready.

It would be the final test for the new team; facing each other’s emotions, thoughts, memories and instincts. They would have to leave behind shame, accept the other completely, and step into the neural handshake as one.

 

*

 

Bond found Raleigh in the mess hall, in the middle of the night. He was nursing what looked like a soda. Alcohol had been for celebrations only and pilots, even without a Jaeger, were discouraged from drinking.

The blue eyes that met Bond’s own were hooded, filled with what could only be memories.

He got himself a bottle of water and sat down without an invitation.

“Late,” was the Double-Oh’s only comment.

Raleigh snorted a laugh. “Shit nightmares.”

He waited.

“We fit in the Kwoon. Like Mako was a fit, too. She went into the Drift with me and chased the rabbit. Not mine. Her own pain.” He wiped his thumb through the condensation on the bottle. “I’m damaged goods, Bond. And he’ll see it all, that pain, the shadows, the hole in my mind.”

“So did Mako.”

It got him a hollow kind of sound. “She isn’t Chuck.”

“Definitely not.”

“He grew up being a ranger. He was raised in a Conn-Pod and a Shatterdome. He’s this arrogant jackass who knows he’s a damn good pilot, one of the best, and I… I feel a lot for him,” Raleigh struggled with his emotions. “He knows what happened in Alaska. Everyone does. But then he would see it.”

He closed his eyes, his whole body tense.

“It’s not the same. It never is.”

“Mako saw it,” Bond repeated evenly. “She didn’t run from it.”

Raleigh shook his head. “Mako and I are co-pilots. Colleagues. I like her a lot. She’s… like this solid presence… Even in the Ghost-Drifts.”

Bond smiled a little. He could relate. It sounded like Q, though him and Q had gone quickly past co-pilots and colleagues.

“I feel good with her. The Drift hangovers weren’t bad. I mean, I had some with Yancy,” he hesitated, then went on, “back in Anchorage. It wasn’t a big deal. A day maybe. Same with Mako. We are compatible and it’s… really good.”

He still kept his silence, just listening.

“I feel good with Chuck, too. When we’re together. Yeah, he’s an ass sometimes, and he can’t stop that mouth of his, but I like it. He’s… he’s Chuck. And we’re really good together. Even in the Kwoon. But the Drift… is different. I’m terrified of what might happen in the Drift.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

Raleigh grimaced. “Oh, good advice, Double-Oh.”

Bond chuckled and drank some water.

“You know I was diagnosed with neural damage after…”

“Yes.”

“I could still Drift with Mako. It was… a surprise. Just because the Kwoon fits you together doesn’t mean a Drift is possible, let alone synchronized and stable.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Not sure I want to, really.” Raleigh looked away, drinking his beer. “No more Kaijus to fight. Why risk everything?”

Why risk a growing relationship, something that was already more than either man had ever hoped for, and go into a Drift. Right.

“You want to,” Bond remarked quietly.

Raleigh didn’t answer.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, simply there.

“So what’s your excuse for running around the Shatterdome at night?” Raleigh finally asked, changing the topic.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

The other smirked. “Q working late?”

“Nope. He’s out like a light. He and Dr. Gottlieb spent the last twenty-four hours over data I have a hard time wrapping my head around, and I was in his head. Believe me, a scary place to be when it comes to what he can really do with a computer.”

Raleigh toasted him with the soda. “I believe you.”

Bond responded in kind.

“Did you ever talk to Chuck about what he might expect?” he tried to get back to the original topic, aware he was digging around a painful wound.

Raleigh chewed on his lower lip. Finally, “He knows all the sordid details. Everyone knows. Five years isn’t that long a time. It was all over the news back then. They dragged my face through enough news flashes and whatnot. I was a sensation and a failure and a hero and everything else they wanted me to be. In the end I was simply…”

Becket stopped. Bond watched him. watched the memories chase each other. Raleigh Becket was damaged, yes, but not beyond repair. Mako had started it, was a healing factor, was the crutch he had needed to get back into the Jaeger and kick the Kaijus back into the Breach. She had shown him that he was still useful, that all the neural damage in his brain didn’t prevent him from Drifting again. She had been the one to drag him back into a life he had been running from.

He owed her everything.

Chuck was the emotional healing, the physical aspect Becket needed. Raleigh had let himself get intimately close to another human being again. Not emotionally in a platonic kind of way, like with Mako. Their friendship had been step one.

No, Chuck Hansen had been the key to opening yet another door, to a place that was scarred and curled up in a tight knot, afraid, maybe even terrified, of showing more than surface affection.

“He would understand.”

“He would _see and feel_ it, Bond! That’s different from seeing it on the news, making up your mind about the survivor, and calling him a has-been!” Raleigh snapped. “He doesn’t need to feel what it was like to lose your brother! He doesn’t need to go through that endless pain, feel this terror that isn’t your own and still is! He doesn’t have to see it! The nightmares! The endless nightmares… and… knowing that part of you is forever gone.”

Raleigh’s voice almost broke, his eyes filled with an incredible pain.

“But Yancy is still there. He’s in my head, part of my soul, and Mako saw it… felt it… went through it. Chuck’s not Mako, Bond,” he whispered, voice almost broken. “It’s one thing to know your… lover, boyfriend, whatever I am, is this brain-damaged wash-out. It’s another to see it. Everything. I can’t… I couldn’t stand to see the… pity. Or worse. And I‘m stupid,” he added faintly.

Raleigh stopped and groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. It had been his most emotional outburst since they had started their semi-regular talks.

Bond suddenly turned his head and caught the silhouette of someone in the doorway. Hansen. The younger man stepped almost silently closer, his face pale, unshaven, creased with sleep. He was wearing sweats and a simple, gray t-shirt. Those sharp eyes were on the slumped figure next to James, his mouth twisting with something Bond couldn’t put a name to.

“Talk,” the Double-Oh only said and rose.

Raleigh’s head whipped up and he looked like a deer caught in the headlights when he discovered Chuck. He was flushed from his outburst, but he paled dramatically as he discovered the other man. His eyes looked huge.

“You’re a bloody moron,” Chuck growled as he stopped in front of the table. “I never pitied your bleedin’ arse and I never will! You’re a grade-A dipstick, _Rah_ -leigh,” he drawled, accent thickening, fury in his eyes. “You really think I’d ditch you ‘cause you’re funny in the head? I know you are, you dill!”

Raleigh stared at him like he was a ghost; a particularly scary one, too.

“You really think I’ve got no idea what Drifting means? Really? I know you’re screwed in the head and so am I, Becket! Ask Herc! The man I hated for most of my teen years! Ask anyone!”

Bond wisely chose to beat a silent retreat, leaving the two men to sort out what was going on between them.

There was an absence of loud voices, well, only one since it had been Chuck yelling, and he stopped. He looked back and smirked briefly at the sight of Chuck Hansen assaulting Raleigh Becket’s mouth like it was a Kaiju and he was a Jaeger bent on conquering the enemy.

Those two really had some issues to work through.

With or without a Drift.

 

tbc...


	16. Chapter 16

Q was where Bond had expected him: in a lab space assigned to K-sciences. Newton was somewhere in Hong Kong, probably pestering Chau into giving him whatever organs he wanted for his research – or whatever else he wanted out of the man – and Gottlieb had holed up in his personal lab, muttering about blessedly Newton-free zones.

James had brought along tea for Q. It wasn’t exactly Earl Grey, Q’s favorite, but it was better than anything the mess offered right now.

Q gave him a smile and James chose an uncluttered desk, hoisted himself on it, and watched Q work.

Whatever it was he was doing anyway. It looked like strings of code or something, projected into a 3-D hologram, making it almost a piece of art.

“New Jaegers?” he asked after a moment.

“Just a few ideas,” was the vague reply.

Usually Q’s ideas ended up being ready-to-build models.

“How was your late night excursion?”

He chuckled. Nothing really went by his partner. “Ran into Raleigh. And I thought I was messed up.”

Dark eyebrows quirked and the eyes behind the oversized glasses sparked a little. “You are messed up, 007, but there are some pilots out there who can truly top that.”

“Well, thank you, Q,” he replied neutrally.

“You are very welcome.”

Bond relayed what Becket had told him, as well as his retreat from the conversation when Chuck had arrived, looking ready to kill the other man.

“Emotionally stunted,” Q muttered, flexing his right hand. “Both of them.”

James slid off the table and caught the hand. He started to run gentle pressure over the visible electrical burns. He had retained full function of his fingers and flexibility in his arm. Muscles had been rebuilt and there was no nerve damage to speak of. The red lines were the only reminders of what had happened to Skyfall Prime, to Q.

“Thankfully Hansen is the more outspoken of them.”

“Yes, well, match made.”

Bond chuckled, continuing the massage, as always checking each digit, each joint.

“Not like you were any better, 007,” Q added, mock-frowning at him. “Same lot.”

“Different lot,” he argued. “Earlier model, way more flaws, but with better endurance and compatibility, and easier to teach.”

Q pulled him close, kissing the dry lips. “You got the last part right, Double-Oh. You can still learn.”

Bond grinned against those lips kissing him and abandoned the hand in exchange for the slender form so close to him.

“I’m very, very quick on the uptake.”

 

* * *

 

Whatever Chuck had said, it must have hit more than just a nerve. It had probably cleared something inside Raleigh’s head. The next time James ran into him, the other man looked more relaxed.

He actually gave Bond a smile. Open. Without the darkness that had hovered over him like a thundercloud.

They went for a run, mostly silent, barely exchanging more than a few words. But it was enough. It felt comfortable, friendly, without pressure.

“Are you going back to Vancouver?” Raleigh asked, slightly out of breath, as they stood atop the Shatterdome, enjoying the brisk, morning air, the sun on their exposed skin.

Bond shrugged. “I actually don’t have any plans. Aside from taking some vacation time to see England again.”

“Family?”

He shook his head. “None left.”

Raleigh nodded slowly.

“Anchorage won’t be operational for a while,” Bond remarked since they were already on that topic.

“I’m not going back,” was the soft reply.

Too many bad memories, the British pilot mused.

“Anchorage was Yance and me. It was home. It was where I died.”

Okay, those had been very clear words.

“Herc might move on to Sydney,” James said conversationally. “Might be a good place to start anew. No bad memories.”

It got him a huff of laughter. “Not sure Herc wants Sydney.”

“And Chuck?”

Australia was his home country. The Shatterdome in Sydney was where he had spent most of his teenage years.

“I think every place is chock-full of memories,” Raleigh muttered. “Good and bad, things you can’t forget even if you want to. Anchorage is a nightmare. Sydney is where Chuck lost his mother. Not sure he wants back to that place.”

“If his father goes, he will, too.”

Because the relationship between the two Hansen men had changed in the past six or seven months. For the better. Bond had seen it in the set of Herc’s shoulders, his eyes, his expression. He had heard it in his voice when they talked about private matters.

“You know Herc wants to keep you as his second,” Raleigh grinned.

“Yes, I’m quite aware of it.” Bond shrugged. “It isn’t really that bad.”

Raleigh grinned more. “So Hong Kong it is for all of us?”

Bond snorted. “It seems to be the nexus of all activity. We are the most active Shatterdome at the moment and from the mass of scientists coming in, I think we’ll have our hands full.”

“Newt’s happy with so many accolades listening to his words. Hermann is close to killing him at least five times a day.”

“So no change there.”

“Not really, no. But I know those two are closer.”

Bond shot him a look and Raleigh shrugged. “Drifting does that. Even with a Kaiju.”

The sun was warming the roof structure, bathing everything in the warm glow of morning. The harsh glare of midday would come soon enough. Before them, the ocean looked peaceful.

Things were changing around them. Maybe not as quickly as some wanted it, maybe not perfectly, maybe not in a way that made sense at the moment, but there was change. The Jaeger program wasn’t scrapped, the Breach and the war forgotten. The world had come together, nations had bonded over the fear of an apocalypse that was far from biblical, and maybe, just maybe, the future would be brighter now.

James didn’t really give a damn about that. Like many who had been there, had seen the end of the world at their doorstep, he was just lucky and happy to be alive. To have someone in his life he had never dared dream of. And he wanted the rest of his life with that person.

For Raleigh, the future was somewhere he could be with Chuck, be it as his co-pilot in a Drift or simply as a partner. If that was in Hong Kong, he would stay here. If Chuck wanted back to Sydney, Bond was convinced Raleigh would simply move there, too.

Because Chuck still had a little bit of family left. Raleigh had become part of that and he wouldn’t let go.

 

 

News came in a week later that the United Nations had signed off on a full protection detail for the Pacific Rim, consisting of three Jaegers for each Shatterdome, as well as one Jaeger for scientific research purposes.

“We’re no longer just a military operation,” Herc translated it for the pilots present. “That means we get more guys like Newton and Dr. Gottlieb, as well as the Jaegers we need to keep an eye on the ocean. The Breach will get guards. In shifts. The Shatterdomes will coordinate the shifts, make sure there will always be two to three Jaegers on the ocean floor. Whoever is down there won’t have time to just sit on their butts. We’re going to collect data, whatever we can, haul anything alien out of there, and make damn sure we won’t get caught with our pants down again.”

Bond and Q were first in line to get a Mark-VI, though it felt a little melancholy to give up their grand old warship, as Q called her.

“Hauling her off to the scrap yard. It’s a shame.”

They stood on a gallery in the hangar bay, looking at their Jaeger. Skyfall had been repaired, though her armor still looked a bit worse for wear. The teams were swarming around her, taking off the dented and scorched pieces to finish them.

“She won’t be scrapped.” Herc joined them. “I talked to Mallory. She’s a hero. A war icon.”

“A museum piece,” Bond rumbled.

“She still has some fight left in her.”

Q smiled. “Yes. And until we get the Mark-VI for testing, she is still ours.”

“The boys are eager for their new ride, too,” Herc remarked, grinning widely. “I’m kinda jealous.”

“You could still Drift with Chuck.”

The older man laughed. “And watch him and Raleigh? Nah. There are some things an old man like me doesn’t have to see. I’ve been in that kid’s head for too long anyway.”

Bond couldn’t contain his laughter. “Don’t tell me he never had a girl.”

“Oh, he had. Hanging off his arms, swooning over his pretty face and hard-ass attitude. Thing is, he never wanted more. He loved the adoration, the hero-worship. Had no idea where to go from there, really. And you have no idea how awkward he was when he had to watch me and his mother.”

Q chuckled. Oh, yes, awkward. Chuck had been fifteen when he had first Drifted, sixteen in his first Kaiju fight.

“I’m glad the kid found someone. Him and Raleigh, fire and water, a lit match and a barrel of gas. They sometimes get along like a house on fire, but they work. It’s amazing to watch them. I don’t need to know more.” Herc smirked.

“You could always test-drive a new Mark-VI with Mako,” Q suggested.

It got him a shrug. “She’s a good pilot. She’ll make someone else a heck of a good co-pilot if she wants to get back into a Conn-Pod. Let’s just wait and see. Got news from home?”

Home being Vancouver. Bond had no idea when he had last seen England. It might be time for a vacation soon.

“Mallory is looking at one more week, then the Shatterdome will be fully operational again,” Bond told him.

There was a rumor that Moneypenny had a possible co-pilot in Felix Leiter for the first new Vancouver Jaeger designated Diamond Omega.

“Too bad,” Herc only said. “You know you’re welcome here. I could use someone with a steady head on his shoulders and who knows what he’s doing and talking about.”

“M would fight you over that.”

“He can try.” The Australian grinned cheekily. “Jaegers will be needed to study the closed Breach, remove carcasses, and so on. Hong Kong’s going to be busy.”

“You can always request our assistance,” Q said politely.

“You bet your British arse I will.”

Bond laughed. Oh, yes, he would.

 

*

 

As a matter of fact, M agreed that Skyfall Prime was currently of much better use at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Vancouver would be training their new recruits, new Jaegers would be commissioned, and bureaucratic nightmares would be fought. Eon Gold had been pulled out of Oblivion Bay to serve as an emergency defense together with the equally resurrected Quantum Solace until the new Jaegers were ready.

No one believed the Breach was closed for good. Even if the peace might hold for a a while, the danger was still there, on the other side of a collapsed portal.

Raleigh’s smile was easy, open, happy. “Good to have you here. I know it makes Herc’s work easier.”

Chuck was there, almost like glued to Raleigh’s side, and Q could tell that the two men had come out of the latest fight stronger. There were still fading scars on Hansen’s face, but the other injuries had healed completely.

“Or his life hell,” Bond chuckled.

 

 

A week later they were back in the Conn-Pod of their faithful Mark-III, ready to deploy and dive to the ocean floor to gather the first set of data.

James had never felt better. It was amazing how much he had missed this sensation of vastness, of the Jaeger, of Q that close to him through the Pons mechanism. The Ghost-Drifts were still there and aside from four of their closest friends, all of them Jaeger pilots, too, no one knew.

“Concentrate, 007,” Q admonished with a little mental nudge.

He grinned cheekily at him.

Epic North was dropped from the cables beside them, moving smoothly through the ocean. For Raleigh and Chuck it was their first live test run and they were doing marvelously so far. Epic wasn’t as tall as Skyfall, a good ten feet shorter, but she had Striker Eureka’s built and speed. She was sleek, armed to the teeth, with a few experimental weapons that wouldn’t be tested today. Her colors were primarily white and icy blue, with a few red stripes to emphasize the sleek built, and a dark gray mid-section.

The helicopters veered off, back to base, and the two Jaegers dove under the churning waves, surrounded by the familiar darkness of the ocean. The HUD showed them their position and they immediately headed for their destination.

Q turned his head, smiling that knowing smile at Bond, who returned it with a smirk of his own.

“Let’s do this,” Tendo called over the comm. “Skyfall Prime, everything reads good. You are ready to dive. Epic North, follow Skyfall, go through the motions, no stunts.”

There were brief acknowledgements from Epic North.

Bond chuckled. “Let’s go, Q.”

“Right behind you,” his partner replied.

fin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's done! I didn't think this would turn into such a long fic when I started writing down the scenes in my head. I also didn't figure that a second story would come out of my unplanned monster fic. You might by now have noticed that Momentum is part one of a series called Synergy. As I already mentioned in a note a few chapters back, Newton and Hermann will get their own little fic. Uhm, well, not so little anymore...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my foray into the world of Pacific Rim fusion fics and will come back for part 2. :)


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